You have not eaten for fourteen days. The doctors cannot quell the seep of blood. You are ninety five, so very weak, a woman with one need alone: love. If even for a moment you do not feel its presence, you cry out. Your spirit, that you beyond the hold of suffering and pain crys out.
To bear this time those close must put aside their need, their only action to be at peace is love.
At start and end of life: love. At birth and death and all between: love.
After many weeks of making you are the first to experience a new piece of music, poetry and art before its public sharing. A year passes. I return with a large framed print of the image. The day you first viewed the art has been forgotten, not through lack of care, but because of the difference of its significance to you and I.
The memory of art is set in mind dependent on our love: of beauty, place, and person.
On night with school of art ablaze, with shallow breath and turn of palm you call our names: stay. You rest, then once again you say with whispered quiet strength: stay.
Soon, with dreams and hope of youth long past, the fire hushed, you breathe the shallow breath.
Time is nothing but a moment spent alone or with. Do not leave my reach, my hold of hand, my touch.
With shallow breath, with morning sound of blackbird song, you close your eyes: stay.