The curtains are closed, the door shut
even sound stops to listen

Despite good intentions, a shudder
sets in my gut

Your closed dark quiet world
steeped in illness

Regulates my body's heart beat
thumping in my chest

I push open the door, ready to invade
endure the unendurable

I will refuse to retreat or withdraw
ignore cool cloths on the head

I will stand steadfast, hooked to your bedside
with news of the day

But, first you must tell me
is this what you want?

Life's turmoils, joys and stresses
the strain of flesh

Or a simple wedge of space
with only the sound of your breathing.

Mary Owens