Lying quarantined in a ward of one
I rest between the hour of needle points
And ponder how clever my veins are
At playing hide and seek with the nurses
Who wrap a rubber tourniquet around my arm
tap, hold, squeeze and finally make
That sharp plunge, and yet they miss.
And so, I leave them to it, and wander off.
I climb into my breath, which I own,
And slowly pull away from the kerb
Of this room, out through the window
Above the trees, the cars and the hubbub.
I hear the nurse speaking softly
“I didn’t get any blood, I must try again”
But I am away in my helicopter of light
Soaring up over the city, content
To see that I can fly where I will.
Yes they have my punctured body
In that sparse room with lime green walls
But I am the pilot of my breath
With the wind on my scalp, I watch
The red orb drop slowly into the sea, with
Its rays, a tiara of light speading its fingers
across a thin and darkening sky.