The drugged hoods
you dance with
  as gravity relaxes
   never asked my permission.
They sway the ballroom
so you know
  only the low
   moan of the sea,
and flap
their dusty wings
  and scratch their
   viol strings each time
I raise my voice
to keep you
  from going faster
   into slow motion.
Water fills
your ears. Over
  the pure music
   the nurse fights
with a machine
that breathes for you,
  I call you home from the woods
   for dinner and a bath,
while the sick angels
rejoice when a child
  cannot hear
   a fathers plea.

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