Towards the end, there was The Good Place inside of The Dying Place.

The raven watches silently.

You were drifting on waves of Ativan while I vaped in the courtyard before I flipped the mouse card. Lotioning your feet—now yellowing.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” I said to the nurse. “But here, take this” as I handed her the phone I yanked from the wall.

No more distractions, please.

An advance copy on a projector screen. Downton Abbey in The Dying Place. You couldn’t believe it. But you also couldn’t stay awake.

Nowadays when I say “calzone”
I’m actually saying “can I have another year on loan?”

When I think about bourbon in the rainbow-speckled glass, it’s a sip-by-sip plea to get those years back.

Alas…

I hold your hand.
The dolphin returns.
I kiss your head.
The mouse rests.
One last breath.
And the raven's wing lifts.