Phoenix.

She's curled up next to you in the crook of your elbow. As close as she could possibly be.
Skin to skin.
Breath to breath.

The space under her eyes is dark with lack of sleep.
Puffy with spent tears.

You hug her as close as you possibly can.
But you're weak
  -- Much weaker than you remember being -- 
And all you can muster is to nuzzle a bit closer to her sleeping form.

You'll miss her.
Or, you ponder, she'll miss you.

For who knows what happens when you take your final inhalation.
If you'll leave this earth.
If you'll stay.
If you'll evaporate completely.

It's harder now.
To breathe each breath.
To gather the strength to keep these eyes open.
To carry onward.
  And forward.

In her sleep (dreams), she lets out an audible cry.
(She's suffering there too, you lament.)
But with it, her unconscious body reaches out for your waiting hand and clasps it.

Your fingers intertwine
  Hers young and nimble. Yours tired and slow.
And, with that grasp, you finally let go..

Of her hearty grip
Of the warmth of her frame
Of the unconditional love and affection her small form emanates

The blackness comes both slowly and rapid-fire.
It is impossible to understand time in this instance.
It is both nothingness and everythingness simultaneously.
You can feel the sweet coldness of the void
And the suffocating hug of the weight of the world.

But everything (if you can even call it anything.. ) is still so black.


Then..
Just when it feels like you're losing the concept of sensation and feeling altogether..
It bites back big time.

The blackness is smoke now.
It invades the lungs you thought you'd lost.
It stings the throat you thought you'd left behind.

Black billows take shape
  -- You can see them out of newly formed eyes --
They surge upward and outward on the tips of the flames you now feel on your newly formed skin.
The blistering heals and forms at the same time.
It radiates reluctantly from your own stark center.
It feeds from your own whole heart.

Here, in the midst of the life/death/intangible being, you hang (what seems like) indefinitely.
Gathering the strength of a life lived long and lovingly.

And when your eyes open
(Dear god you never thought they'd open again!)
You find them staring at the same sweet angel of a face that they last laid eyes on
What seems like both a second and a million years ago.

She's still dreaming.
Her chest still slowly undulates with each petite inhalation.

You reach out to once again put her hand in your own.
But your arm is short and stubby and can't cover the distance.
Your fingers too small.

You try to speak but all that comes out is a startled cry.
You suddenly realize your only form of communication is this acrid form of exhalation.
And this makes you cry harder.

She shuffles, stirred from her slumber by your sorrow.

It's hard to tell if she can recognize you in this form.
But she hears your pain.
Your bond permeates the physical.

And while she may not know you,
She scoops your infant form fully into her embrace
And rocks you to sleep.

Skin to skin.

Breath to breath.