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