Peter Three

You can sometimes squeeze, from each breath she takes, a manner that's easy, she murmurs God take me soon, face washed grey, from hospital rooms, outside is a magnolia tree, love marks her day, purple on the breeze, it's not her tune, this lousy disease, the wind goes boom, forget my frenzy, her bed's like a creel, she can smell the sea, sees sunlit avenues, Paris, Marseilles, Paracletes, all good news, home in a house that creaks, she listens to the rain, she turns to speak, this is what she says.