The sound from the oxygenator swallows the room,
does the opposite of what's intended, making all of us
breathless. I can't stop staring at the air-bag. In the dimness,
the in and out motion of opaque plastic is so slight I imagine
it's fixed, not moving at all. But then I hear the dreadful drone
of your harsh attempts to breathe, see the faint rise and fall of
your frail chest and know it's working. However poor an excuse
for a non-heroic measure, it's working.