Vanishing Point

It’s a cold 39 or is it 39 days since I saw the Sun

My incision aches though the knots of flesh removed

My heart pained at the emotional knot of by my eldest child

A knot in my throat squeezes tight

There’s no air in my lungs to sooth my youngest suffering some virus

This cloud of ailments arrayed against my vision

A hearse passes by thankfully with out-of-state plates

We are all on our way

to some thing, somewhere

years or days maybe hours away

yet it seems without end

The respite is a moonless night