I waded to the middle of the river and was swept along, searching, searching. I was high in the air but tumbling downward trying to catch you. I stared at the screen until my eyes were dry and sore. I ran down the street pushing past shoppers, over and over. I shouted, screamed, shouted. I turned the key in the lock but the lock fell to the ground so I picked it up and it fell to the ground again and again. Every time I asked for peace a clock clanged the hour. Every time I saw you I awoke.
At the place where two oceans meet a white foam forms a rough line on the surface. We encounter light and dark, warm and cold.
Outside the hotel room the sky was grey. On the TV the skies were all blue. Microphones were pointed towards a grimacing face. In the corridor, staff brought room service to guests. I washed and changed my shirt.
In the hospital machines were wheeled out. Condolences were offered. At the airport where families rushed in the engines blared.
The correspondent says critical but stable.
I would come to think of this as a sea change.