The road, from here, looks slow
and easy as the steps it takes to wheel her
downstairs to the garden.
In her mind, we're on
a cruise, on some grand ship,
mid-Atlantic;
In my mind
and this third floor elevator,
we are sinking
until we sit beside the water,
just outside closed chapel doors,
watching lilies open
to breathe
in this first offering of sun,
remembering all the days that weren't
until we're called
for that last Tuesday meal
just as the flowers,
still dancing on ripples,
fold in their arms
to bow out,
slow
and easy.