A room, and then another,
while the nurses come and go. To where, unknown.
Monitors beep. Blink. Interruptions of this time,
forever stamped in our minds.
Another hallway, to another room,
yet remembered differently, individually.
Hurried, without rush, the moments passing slowly,
with every clock’s tick.
Peace grows from one to the next
Slowly, in its sinking.
* initially written during a workshop held by John Sibley Williams on the Poetry of Place at the Sandy Library.