I lay in the dark
in a dome of pain
pressing my temples
as though damming a leak
the day slithers across me
dropping minutes
like hammers
onto my skull
I look up aneurysms
and decide it’s what I have
but the prospect of hospital lighting
makes me reconsider
my son nurses as though he is confident
I will die
and he better at least
get his fill
I try to slide away from him
but he hangs on
like a tree
in an earthquake
the roots don’t care
when the ground rips open
they still need
to drink.