Already it is too long
For you
To lie there
With your one eye open
Staring at nothing, or
Something only you can see.
I cannot quite tell
If you are conscious but
Incapable of movement, or
Vacated so fully
you do not even care to swallow
However much we may plead.
I ask how you are doing.
They tell me facts -
How many squirts of apple juice,
How many half-teaspoons of pudding -
But I don't want facts.
Lives are not made of
facts and measure and scales and
What do they know?
They didn't even know
Which way to comb your hair.
So we brushed it back and
Now you look like you again and
You can go now.
Really. It's OK.
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Adam Byrn Tritt 