ICU

ICU

Peekaboo. Last game for a while.

I open my eyes, smile,

and see but cannot touch

your hands, the only part

awake while you sleep.

They're picking apart the kite-string

of your life, even as you rise

out of reach

like a balloon, like a blessing.

I think you're dreaming

of a distant beach

building castles for the waves to live in.

I see you're

so quiet people'd think

you almost weren't breathing

with the drip silent in your arm

a string about to fray

but I can't see

for the life of me

the far-off

places

to which

you

stray

By Grace Chua