December

You shrink happiness
to fit inside the possibilities.
Attached to three tubes and an IV,
eating jello and consommé for dinner,
the sound of your wife’s voice
is the width of pleasure.

We crowd into this new definition,
gathering close
to your flickering fire,
which, barely moving,
cast giant shadows
against the hospital walls.

Wedged between
the sliding curtains
and memories of easier times,
your spirit clings
to each remaining crevice
of your diminishing room.