Six feet apart

sanitized masked breathing shallowly 

His words muzzled by three layers

muted in implicit silence

Tears shimmer 

gravity demanding they seek his jaw line

thwarted by the paper cloth draped across his cheeks

 

Mirroring neurons fire urgently: 

My bronchial tree is tight and vibrant 

Fearful Fire Burns Constricting

his powerlessness, 

Acute, sweeping like wildfire through my chest.

I consciously breathe for him to see it can be done.

Mirroring neurons fire urgently:

allow him to open his lungs 

 

wet mucus laden gulps heaves

for a moment

Acute implicitness

contained again with his second 

heaving breath

the moment of Surrender a moment of recognition.

 

Our shoulders loosen

Our breath eases.

We stand simultaneously. Stretch.

 

Same time next week Doc he says

I hand him a fresh mask wrapped in tissue paper

I release him to his work in the ICU 

I hold Hope 

Visceral Attunement

You Bet I say Stay in touch as needed I say.

We work. Essentially.

 

Sanitizing surfaces opening the window wider:

his car is parked below.

hands at ten and two clench as he allows himself the luxury of deep exhalations from the bottom of his lungs.

(He needn’t worry about infecting me)

Allowing fierce full draws of oxygen filling his lungs to bursting 

(He needn’t worry that a particle survived arctic air slipping through a window cracked, precious squirts of Lysol and the air purifier between us)

 

I can do no more for him today. 

Imagine asking God for that extra prayer shawl, the one hanging nearby, the one drenched with love and blessings, to wrap around his shoulders. 

 

I turn to check my messages 

tears shimmering 

Gravity demanding