The place where there are no cues for joy
I look at her face
waxy and pale
eyes chalky and flat
not sad
not anything.
She is sinking
again
to that place
where there are no cues
for joy.
I have learned
that I cannot rescue her
but I can do small things
with my love.
So I make soup
and open her curtains
a reminder
of the endurance of light.