to be hunched in a chair
the shawl of man’s shoulders
draped always a little lower
and rounded – whoever comes in –
the angle of head slowly lifted
more a turtle or tortoise just looking out
and the voice without force
a nearly stilled wind
the right hand still moving forwards
to yours held out
but more like a word spoken too swiftly
soon losing its edge
or those prostrate
not even staring up at the blank ceiling
speaking to the light bulb
suspended and switched off
one hand turned to the rail
a slant of the hand
in intimacy and hope
with low expectations
as if to reassure you
to cause no care
and show how possible
it all was to be managed
and you cannot believe
one word of it
for all your love
and willing
what you see
is shuffle and shrinkage
a flattening-out a stillness to come
and you feel ungrateful
and they know too
no fooling really
but leaving the boat
to those who are rescued
staying afloat in the water
for a last look
all they can do
and then be done with it