After the injury
he was content to just stay in bed
most of the time and listen to her
play Neil Young songs on the piano.
Sometimes, when he
had enough wind to spare,
he’d join her in singing.
Together they lived
for those smaller-than-life
moments that seemed to
enlarge as the days passed.
Their daughter rushing in with the morning sun.
Tall, blonde and lean as a sheaf of wheat.
It was hard to tell the two apart anymore
as they vivified the light colours in his room.
His wife—strong and soft as silk—undressing
and redressing the wound. Eyes still bright
green as young pines. Humming Neil’s song
about a dream dissolving like sugar in tea.
A sullen lullaby making the day’s disorder elegant.
Her patient hands cradling the jewel
in the left side of his chest.
She uses yesterday’s ashes.
Knowing it takes time to phoenix.
Careful not to lose the luster she creates.