Mercy

The moment we step out into the landscape, I know
it is right for us to be here.
A swift leap from a hospital bed to your memories,
recollections of a blissful childhood in which your crippled legs unfold.
Lithe. You are divinely doe like once more.

You retrace paths, rehersals printed into the ground
as if all those years never passed between the imprints
of your tiny cherry red sandals and now.
I, the novice in the wake of your dance, stumbling.
Unsure in these times when I was far out of mind,
when it was not my hold that kept you from breaking.

The trees here reek of innocence, old playmates who smile warmly at you,
tripping me with their roots as they cluster in greeting.
Fauna remaining unchanged since the times you beamed and
watched them weave through the foilage.
They bound as before.

The way you tread, suddenely youthful and swamped
by that regulation NHS gown;
and your face blooming again, damasked in joy.
Suddenely I realise I never really knew you at all.
Too late, our time is over as the needle drives in deep,
and it radiates nauseatingly beautiful relief.
Even as precocious voices deign mine must begin;
your suffering is cessated.