and a few days later, more body quits.
Hands can only pull so many weeds. She goes
still in a hospice home on the same day
a children’s book written by a friend arrives.
In the games you’ve played, everyone
gets blown away, pampas or dandelion head fuzz,
and respawns in a safe place, far enough
away from the action to ease back to battle.
A gown with long sleeves looks like it stands
but, really, hangs breezeless from fence wire.
There’s a drop. You feel it on palms and face
a grey shape, some open window, any source.