I am sitting with her as she falls asleep.
I'm hunkered down in a large cardboard box,
Full of stuffies, next to the only accessible plug
With my dying phone.
Her breath is slowing, growing more even;
Rough still, from a cold this week,
From the coughing reminder that
Every breath is a gift
From the giver of air, and lungs.
Nephesh: the soul, the throat;
The air breathed in and life given.
I place her soul into Your care for the night
For all her nights, for dawns and days
Breath after breath after breath after breath.
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