fresh air

driving home
you smell something
strange.
it's the smell
of sickness
the taint
of hospital
gowns and wipes,
hand sanitizers
and shoes
set by the bedside.
life gone
stale is with you.
it's in your hair,
your clothes
on the tips of
your fingers.
you want to take
the top off
of that building
and let the wind
in, let the stars
and moon
rain down
with light. you
want fresh air
to fill their lungs.
you want the birds
to land
on the beds,
you want meteors
to flash
in front of the dying
eyes, to tell
them, that is
everything is fine,
everything will
be alright.