“Who is coming for him?” the nurse asked,
and in my confusion I thought the gulls were
angels rising and falling through the fog.
Or, they could have been fighter planes from
an old movie reel. Flyboy, I swear the moon
stopped climbing, sat like a whole note between
the power lines. One. Two. Three. Four. I counted
seconds between your breaths. The strength of your
heartbeat still shook the bed. Later, pulling
into the driveway, my headlights caught possum
slipping behind the shed, his long pink tail
curling into shadow. Then the moon rose.