blown

by now, all the breath between us sags.

a camera clicks, or maybe nǎinai blinks 

hard enough to snap in my ear, a sound which

echoes during Sunday service, when i lower my head

and carve breath through the flesh of my throat

for a miracle He won’t grant.

I lower my phone, click the bottom left corner

nǎinai reaches over, and it is like she is already feather and floating

she cradles my phone in her 

age-besotted hands. we look at the picture,

me, tanner than she’d like; her, older than i’d like. 

she laughs weakly at the photo, hands the phone back to me. 

I need the restroom, she rasps, 

clutching and pushing down on the frame of the bed to stand up. 

she is away for long enough, that I wonder if I must look up 

to see her