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.