Time seems to hide in my moments of clarity,
Like days will melt into years
With quiet mornings and him
Holding my hand
And drinking coffee.
But it is morning,
And I am alone.
His body is molded into a plastic chair
Learning coded messages
From pieces of technology
As he sends words to me
Through small screens and dying batteries.
I am sitting on the couch
Writing and planning for next week,
Imagining little voices calling out for me
To teach words and metaphors.
I am alone,
But in my dreams I will still have time to meet
And talk and laugh and listen.
I am alone,
But I hold him here.
A Poet's Pen 