insidious-Dreamscape

I see it in her sinking eyes, the silence of their gaze--a child batting at the final thread of life, nine for nine. Darker days pass with worry tumbling deep in its high-walled pit. I see it: something that says this is the last, when I touch the curve of her back, the rise of spine, the uneven quiet of her response while winter bulks and burns with its oppression of frost. I see it in my brother, the care of each hand as it arches over bone. There is hunger, but she does not eat-- only laps at a small drinking bowl-- and I tell him this is it, it is now: but he insists as love does--wandering dove in the dark cave that is d