Death Watch

Last night I sat
a death watch.
Hands bound by distance,
my only recourse
to clutch the phone
and cry,
and beg,
and whisper my love.

My spirit bleeds
for his wounds.
I try to
wake up each day
for the both of us.
Can one person's
will to live sustain two?

Why can I see the
beauty that is to come
of his life,
the joy he has
yet to encounter
(if he can be brave enough
to endure) when he
can't see beyond
the dark loneliness.

I spend my days bargaining
with God for him
more than for myself.
I give up sleep
so he doesn't feel
empty before he drifts off
in his slumber.
I sacrifice pieces of my life,
of my responsibility to myself,
because I have the power
to cope with the setbacks
of my own making but
he has not the strength
to cope with the morning.

Still, I am not Atlas.
The weight of his world
strains my back
and threatens tear to
every sinew of my soul.

But what choice do I have?
My self-protection may
mean his self-destruction.
The pressure is intense
but it still resonates
with his smile
and I can't even wrap
my comprehension
around a space void of him.