Lightly Falls The Snow

Lightly Falls The Snow
Bob Komives

::

Tuesday evening,
a tightness in the chest,
a lightness in the arm—
does he only imagine a threat?
Does he face real harm?

He does not know.

He should go out for a beer
because his buddies expect him.

He does not know.

He should go to the hospital;
he may, after all, be mortal.

He does not know.

They connect him to machines,
take his pressure and blood,
plop a pill under his tongue,
“You seem fine, but
“we want you here all night.”

They do not know.

With a telemeter,
monitor,
repeater,
wired to his chest,
he watches the local news:
pleased
that he is not in it.

He sleeps;
he dreams,
but he does not know.

Wednesday morning,
he climbs treadmill hills;
they watch his blips and blops.
“You seem fine;
“no restrictions, but
“see me on Friday.”

Outside in the world,
all that he knows
as he walks a mile home:
silently,
beautifully,
lightly falls the snow.

Bob Komives :: Fort Collins © 1995 :: Lightly Falls The Snow :: ,9507