A new sun with golden-orbed topspin rises over the cold trees,
Like a drug on which she pins her hopes and dreams.
But Helios is in a hurry to paint his sky, and soon his brave sunset
Reminds her, lest she forget: in life there is no “reset.”
Knuckles rap, monitors ping. Her acquiescence grows
With each passing thin-lipped stare. Deep, like the blue
Cover of night, she liltingly surrenders to saintly slumber
In her mother’s bedside chair, to escape the reality defining her.
Death, the word, first faintly etched against each closed eyelid,
Becomes tangible. She now measures it, a deeply viscous fluid
That she can taste, infinitely bittersweet like love's last kiss.
This forward march, our internal metronome's final promise.
This Sisyphean struggle would end, and with sweet finality
She embraces Helios’ conviction and her mother’s mortality.
Unburdened at the bedside, she stands and nods her assent;
A peaceful slide from earthly ties, as Mother had meant.