Trinity

I pace the white corridors,
endless in the silence
that smells of urine and chlorine,
and leads to your iron bed.

The chemo has withered your arm;
stunted your leg.
As we embrace warmth heals
our lacerated hearts with golden thread.

Fluorescent lifts soar to icy coffee shops.
Here, only the cups clink.
I push your valiant wheelchair
onto the anthracite roof top.

The town’s misty below,
the bitter snow bites your face,
one eyebrow raised
like a periscope as you pick up

on every one
of my sunken syllables.
Now in the windowless ward
I hear your breath subside.

I watch you slide agile and alive.
You cannot be dead
you are writing this poem……
connected in my head

and the « I » that is loving you
   has dropped
      out of time.