In steely shadows of light unfurling,
a worried husband and his ailing wife
continue to lie lovingly entwined.
He must find out if she breathes,

He hovers over the sleeping body
of his queen, a pal,
like the sister he never had.
A woman superbly loquacious,
her lithe body, once a graceful dancer,
now lies in a peculiar stillness.
Would this be a good day to die?

He listens for a breath,
searches for an arterial pulse
with a tremulous hand,
sensitive as the sixth sense
of a blind man’s touch
for evidence of a pumping heart.

He sees a hint of movement
in her chest, a reassuring sign,
knowing of her wish to die in her sleep.
She breathes softly,
and he’s pleased she’s very much alive.
He inhales her jasmine scent,
unique as burning sweetgrass.

Breathing in unison,
he falls asleep
hoping his love annihilates
the closeness of death.
This must be what happiness is.