At the hospital

He is left with

the feel

of father’s cold hand; no recognition

as he held it, no tensing muscles to test themselves

against the child.

the sound

of  his mother’s shoes

clicking upon the hard floor as she hurried

to call absent sons.

the smell

of disinfectant, a faint whiff

of father’s final sweat after the last battle

has ended.

the taste

of tears sliding down cheeks

and touching lips - a Christmas morning kiss

from childhood.

the sight

of a face known intimately,

as remote as a rainbow; no strident farewell

can cover the distance.

He remembers

looking out the large square window,

sunlight pushing through the clouds, like raised swords,

then the sparrow

landing on the outside

ledge, cocking its tiny head

as if looking for the next passenger to carry

into memory.

In his mouth,

the charcoal taste of dry words,

withheld, now black and useless to ears

that vibrate into emptiness.