She pats the corner of his mouth,
gently
with a tissue.
The sounds of another weary night
Ensue
As, one by one,
they cough, they die,
Cold and blue.

His rheumy eyes scan her face
She smiles
And holds his knobbly hand
In hers.
As piercing alarms
Invade their moment,
A blue army rushes
From other aisles.
She keeps his gaze.
While her angst spirals
As they surround
His bed.

In the empty silence,
She rises quietly, seeking
another hand to warm.
With the coming dawn,
She’ll mourn
Many.