“Nor it nor no remembrance what it was.”
                                                Shakespeare

Someone sick in neutral recovery I know
Lifts autumn leaves from her eyes,
Dresses in her nakedness,
Walks half the hospital road
Where visitors come and go
Like days through a breathing tube.

You can see the leveling in her face
And at her fourth-floor window,
October mixing with her image,
Branches growing slowly bare,
All her hope appeased and fair,
Lingering like a longer summer.

Someone sick in neutral recovery I know
Gathers all her strength for winter,
Goes more boldly into cold,
Neither well nor worse in her transparency.