I sit next to him in the hospital room
praying that nothing will happen.
Don't let the yearly ambulance visits
fill the dark, snow filled streets
with unwelcome light anymore.
Don't let cells tunnel through his body,
like rats in the walls of a house,
slowly nibbling away
at the insides that keep him warm.
Don't make him endure more sleepless nights,
pain exploring every part of his body,
water seeping through narrow cracks in a wall,
waiting to intrude the next opening.
At least let him be numb,
like red fingertips stranded in the cold.
Don't make him watch his body degrade,
a tomato plant in the fall,
leaves crumpling,
until it finally perishes in the winter chill.
Don't take his smile away,
the only part of him that is fully alive,
keeping him hopeful
during the long, dreary winter of his life.