The air is as ice itself; maybe not exactly.
      It's hard to tell the state of the wind
From here, where the windows come together
             sharply as diamonds do.

She sits in waiting with her daughter and
      grand daughter. They play guard to
Her wheelchair, waiting for the wind to settle.
          It never does around here.

The car arrives before I turn my head.
        She's lifted into the seat. Forever
Now she'll be sitting, but at least she's home,
        where soup tastes like the milk of the gods;

Then the trio is gone. The clouds keep their steely coats.  
            Back To The Future still running on a tired LG.
She doesn't have long, but none of us really do.
         At least she'll be home, home, home.