Rick the nurse says his colleagues call this time of not day not night the witching hours.

her breathing slows. through the afternoon my brother and I sit with her. into the evening.
I see the tiny pulse in her neck. feel it with my fingers, I show him, he touches it, too.
tiny, steady.

he goes back to the hotel.

I leave her briefly to write this knowing she can leave while I’m across the hall writing how I can’t bear her leaving, writing how I need to do, writing how she needs to do.

writing that I suspect she’ll be there, her small breathing barely, a little while, a small while more.

writing that any good there might be in me is because of her

the clock sound, that thing when you hear it. audible

we wait for each other, we have waited, we will have waited all our lives long.