I Want to Write

I do not want to write
about monitor beeps
or oxygen valves
off-gassing, or the smell
of disinfectant, or wrappers
from tools used
to poke and prod
and drain, or trays
leftover from uneaten meals delivered,
or tubes leading
into bags, or bags
leading into tubes.  I do not want
to write about the light
that never changes, or the too white
sheets that tangle and tighten,
or the skin so bruised,
or the words so confused
in the night…

I want to write
about the time you asked,
Is it raining?
over the hiss and din
and clamor and spin,
because somehow you
were still connected
to the small, wet truths
falling out of the sky.