Final Visit

I stood at the threshold,

knocked twice, heard a voice,

a polite invitation to enter.

Pushing the door, stepping inside,

a clinician leaned over the bed,

lifting an eye from its socket.

Our gazes locked in a twin stare,

her expression mixed with surprise,

"Oh," was all she managed to say.

"I came to visit Mrs. ____," I said,

my words hanging in the sterile air,

"the patient," I added, unnecessarily.

She paused, eye still in hand,

"She died a few minutes ago,"

her voice a soft, factual whisper.

"She's a donor," she explained,

the room now an altar of transition,

life giving way to another life,

leaving me standing in the doorway,

a witness to a silent, gentle passing,

the unblinking eye forever seeing.