In the middle of the aftermath
came fears and visions and panic
and dreams and memories all
livid with blood and pulsing
silence screaming in my ears.
Haunted and hunted by solitude
while in the living after hours
surviving barely until the windows
let in with the day light
shadows realing in thoughts
dawning that we needed relief
from the hounds at the door;
that through no fault of our own
we were pinioned in emotional ice
on a sublevel of Virgil's hell
unmarked on any subway schedule.
Now nightly living in her ending
all I can hear was that hissing
of the machine still pumping;
all I can see was her eyes unblinking
watching the night turning to morning
and I couldn't bring myself to stand
and find out here
if there is any one
still human.
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