Cradle

The fates conspire
Hatching plots in the closet
Appointments to be kept
Blood work tubed and labeled
Imaging with suspect halos
A loosening of the screws  
And trauma long after the fact
He attempts to heal himself
But licensed specialists spill ridicule
Denouncing his efforts to flee
Tethering them in the name of recovery
His lover laments his absence
Entrusting him to bleed freely
But no pressure, boyo,
She will gently guide him home
Gathering both prayers and desires
And reading even as they fail
Her arms a cradle once more.

Statue of Percy Shelley by Henry Weekes