It is Wednesday, a pearl
crescent dwindles in the dawning eve of Sagittarius, it was warm

and yesterday

was too though I cannot remember which day it was
that Nana lost her way to the main entrance parking lot

I suggested the right route (we had taken it not more than a half hour before)
she could hear my voice

through the opaque vibrations of the plastic, tan trim
beneath her forty minutes of sleep in two days

his cheeks are crimson and ripe
he never looked that plump in his youth

the men have cheek bones like symmetric bird beaks
in this family

my uncle flew to us here in Iowa
I know what language my mother invoked to concretize that choice

and all the same here he is to hold the dangling hand
under the bipap mask the ancient one heaves like a swelling ocean

the machine is alien and monstrosly hitech
against the depth of the grooves around his eyes and jaw

parabola to the moon
a waterfall without gravity into a phosphorus plane of gentler breath