Keep watch. Night saps you, catches you with a blackjack, drains you like sand sifted through an hourglass running low on patience, low on time, low on hope, but it's 11:00 p.m. and you've been here three days and so has everyone else so you keep quiet and
Keep watch. Under the fluorescent hospital lights, your stage awaits so you put on a brave face, paint that clown mask and start the production: not tears, not fears, just enough to get them through to the miracle waiting for them, but you've been around and you know miracles ain't cheap, so keep the faith and
Keep watch. Through the racking coughs, through the distant sobbing all receding into absence of thought to match absence of action, as your turn comes up to give this mockery of last rites, to sanctify the dead and soon to be dead, to keep some kind of memory and