For the Keeper of Vanishing Breath

You learned the way the fragile air

could turn to gold inside the chest,

how every gasp was holy ground—

a sacrament of rise and rest.

_________________________

By day you tamed the hissing beasts

that breathed for those who could no more,

by night you walked in older worlds

where dragons taught you all their lore.

_________________________

Them fire came as fire does—

with hunger and with light—

but paused before the bookcase where

your paper phoenixes once took flight.

_________________________

It licked the doorframe once, twice, thrice,

then bowed its burning head,

as even flames know reverence

for certain kinds of dead.

_________________________

Now when the monitors beep and chaos channels

in that last desperate tone,

there comes a warmth that smells of gray flannel

and peppermint and home.

_________________________

The nurses swear they see the pages

of your old books turn slow,

though no one stands there reading

where the afternoon glows gold.

_________________________

Perhaps you've found that final ward

where no masks fog, no alarms cry,

where every breath comes easy as

a dragon's passing sigh.

From the Charred Chapters of: The Lost Books - "Libri Perditi"

Where the best healers live on in memory and stories.

~ In loving memory of my father.~