the slow gasp of suction draws breath

against a quiet morning where

light leaks in through muffled blinds

dancing on tubes and drains

tiny lanterns suspended from strings

oxygen whistles ever so slightly

a tight and careful melody

under soft beeps and sine waves

and echoes down the hall

public rehearsals in private chambers

and her lungs, how they heaved against the machine

stacking breaths against an impossible rhythm

that was music, too

and the coughing fits, a sharp staccato

and the hum of her heart, a swan song