Thinking there was more time, waiting
out an evening or forty, supplicating words
stillborn and scattered in that stone gray
sunrise that settles nothing, promises
only a new monochrome world risen
like ash from ash, she’d say Let me die, let
me to every pair of passing feet, every chair
or tottering walker that brushed past
in shadows where her still small voice
joined the chorus from door to door, Let me
echoing through unexplored corners
and darkened doorways, every one open
haunted with yellowing eyes, gaping mouths
sending prayer and plea Let me die, let me
from the dank, urine-tinged recesses
the nurses avoid or jump past, relieved.