Andrew

He has disappeared inside 
his own head and 
sits there quietly, peering out 
from a long way behind 
those eyes, and the wreck of his 
body beached and tilted 
in the chair where he has landed 
from his own normal life.   He 
smiles and nods, and sometimes 
talks but leans back, tired, 
his hands plucking idly the soft 
edges of the hospital gown, and 
around him the ward is bright 
and white and modern, the young 
nursing staff bright and mobile 
busy in their walking ways - I 
remember him in younger days 
without 
his gnarled and purpled legs, or 
his hearing aid that cannot, now, 
carry our messages through 
to the small flame that sits 
burning quietly, contemplating 
new found land.

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