I Listen To Her Breathing Poem by Bill Galvin

I listen to her quiet rhythmic breathing
and dream longingly back to before she went ill.
The new meds help her sleep now
and her gentle sounds belie the fact
that ALS is taking body and spirit from her at a rapid rate.

My musings are from a bank full of memories.

She could be sleeping in the bunk next to me in a canyon camp.
Or maybe on the far side of a king bed in a grand hotel.
Or it could be from the moments before she wakes
as I slip into our bed next to her when I stay up late.
Or in a double sleeping bag with our tent pitched in wilderness
under a canopy of starry skies.
Or napping on a Maine mountain, or an Alaskan lake shore.

She could be... but she isn't.
She's here in our converted den in a hospital bed
too frail to ever share bed space again;
too cramped to share a deep hug again;
and I lie listening a few feet away,
knowing her time is near;
knowing that this ALS nightmare will win out.

But I can dream, can't I?
And isn't great reminiscence the best measure of a relationship?

1-16-2015