Wondering about her dreams,
I sit in a stiff wooden chair
and wait for the curtain to come down
She breathes steadily
but without much conviction
her mouth wide open, ready to call
I say her name, but softly:
I want to speak to her but not to wrench her away
from wherever she is
from whatever peace she is finding
I walk up and down while
she lies still, beneath pale green,
eyes closed, blank screen
She does not catch sight
of the flowers I brought or the card:
she waits for the night
I remember her smile,
her laughter,
her Robert Mitchum husband,
the distance between us
Nurses come in with love:
everyone cares, but no-one
can change anything
except her clothes
I have to go,
she has to stay
Those silent dreams:
another day