and everyday I think why today is the day

Mum will die. We can't give a time, the nurse said

and another around the corner: another 24 hours

and another and another. She was born on Sunday,

perhaps today her pain will end and on Thursday

I hear a crow in St David's Park and feel sick

and think Mum has died. You're being maudlin, Sue says,

melodramatic and Friday and Saturday my brother comes.

I tell her it's the end of June, Winter will soon be over

and Uncle Noel came. She raises an eyebrow above

morphine-closed eyes. I hope it's a nice dream, Momma.

Novalis said another age will come where we awake

from lofty dream and find our dreams again as we've lost

nothing but sleep. Lofty? After so much pain?

I hope it's a nice dream, Momma.