Border Crossing
Bright lights overhead.
I'm flat on my back,
Trapped in a mesh of tubes and wires.
And there he is, sitting at the foot of the bed
Looking contrite and guilty and vindicated.
I prod for pain.
I can find
	nothing.
I prod for emotions.
I can find
	nothing.
He says, tell them how it happened.
Too hard.
Too tired.
Later. 
A dark blue blob at the foot of the bed.
Too much trouble to focus.
I prod for recognition.
I can find
	nothing.
He says, tell us what happened.
You didn't just narrowly miss la petite mort, I think.
This was the big one.
I prod for surprise.
I can find
	nothing.
At the border between life and death
I have nothing to declare
	nothing	nothing

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