The moment  

I knew  

my mother was leaving—  

no word, no signal,  

just a slight shift  

in the staff's routine,  

moving through  

the dim quiet  

of the critical room;  

tending machines,  

securing trays,  

smoothing blankets,  

quietly closing the blinds  

on a life,  

while the world  

ghosted below  

in darkness.

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I wake  
earlier than usual,  
padding gingerly across  
the dusty, sunlit 
pine floor
toward the kettle  
and the promise  
of the morning fixer.

I wait,  
gazing through the steam  
at the hazy dawn.  
Some are already awake,  
their shiny black caps dipping
in and out  
of the glimmering waves.  
  
One already stepping 
onto the shore—  
the evolution of the species;  
it ...

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