Figurine families
with frozen eyes
stare at me
at home, in my bed
Tonight, like many nights
a frantic congestion of crowded lifeboats
trawl my foggy mind
From the boats a mad mosaic of eyes
Eyes that tremble, eyes that tackle and scold
Splinter shearing eyes that spew
shrill gasps of disbelief
Eyes that humbly collapse
melting into my own
Most of the eyes just teeter on misty eskers
in the maze of a frightful dream
Caring for their sick father
seemed simple, at first
I was quick, sure, determined and trained
But to face the family, after so many days
their eyes grumbling, plaintive
My ivory coated confidence
unravels, fatigued and gray
Miracles are not my trade
And when they happen,
When they can't
Or won't
Dazed, I roam the doubtful edge
The icy dock between
reason and rapture
In the waiting room, tomorrow
I'll caress their eyes again
I will console, but not lie,
courteously coy
The obvious prognosis or
practical objectivity ignored
I will make promises, shielding the hope
and tomorrow night, in bed
I will wrestle my scientific conscience
as their daunting eyes
lock the fray
I know that some day
I will be in one of those boats
I will need a promise
Someone to tell me it will be better
To couch and cradle
my grasping eyes,
regardless