Ab waqt khatm!

She called out
As I stumbled to get my walking stick.
Covering a thousand crooked ear lengths,
Her muffled voice is as collapsible as her lungs.
I cannot see,
And she cannot hear.

Between insulin and twisted thumbs,

And childbirth and forgetfulness,

Pain and pleasure 

Are salt-peppery.

Dry taste-buds and dry eyes
Long for a rain from a lifetime ago.
She reads for me,
I sing for her.
Last dance and last song of us.
I watch
And she listens.