it’s you

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    In the Grand Scheme of It All,
    truth rides in on small things –
    the way a shooting star
    defines the Universe
    in a fleeting gesture
    of magnificent futility.

    In the Giant Medical Center,
    we stood beside the bed,
    the small room stuffed
    with relatives and machines,
    neither saying much
    of anything.

    We came bearing Cupcakes:
    chocolate, at his wife’s request –
    our small gesture of
    confectionery compassion.
    My wife asked the ailing
    octogenarian to

    Name three highlights . . .”

    “That’s easy,” he said
    and then he reached out
    his hand across the bed rail
    and took her hand
    so familiar, and said,
    “It’s you.”

    Peace,
    Milton

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