Love is an arranging

Love is an arranging
Of blocks in your schedule for hospital visiting;
Written-down memos for polishing the broken head
And vacuuming the soiled body;
Constructed of germ-free brushes that fit between brown toes
And sanitized wipes for a gaping mouth.

In a white space where upturned corners must be pushed down
Unrolled and fingered and moulded backwards,
Love is soothing pillows and placating blankets
And a tender waiting by the washbasin.
It is comforting IV tubes before turning to crying catheters;
Love is whispering softly, "I'll be back tomorrow."