It will happen in a moment
But I expect it will feel like a century,
And his sense of time will obviously be innacurate
And he will know that and so
He will stop trusting all of his other senses
(His eyes did not see the doctor's expression
And the way he approached;
He did not feel the hugs of the surrounding people
That crashed down on him like waves;
And his ears did not hear the final blow,
The final breath.)
And he will go into denial.
I will be battling my own shock
And trying to pick up his pieces and grieving.
Only he knows me well enough to know if
I will deny his denial, but then again
Maybe the shock I feel at the words spilling
Like blood from my pen has prepared me.