This is the long week—waiting for the lab

to count the microcosmos of the crab—

the tumor taken from my body while I slept.

This is a timeless time—no plans laid

down to be undone, no promises made

to be abandoned later and not kept.

This is never-never. I’ll never again

be fully healthy in my mortal skin

nor ill inside the space my soul accepts.

I slept through surgery’s urgent gleaning

cosseted in prayer, a transcendent overlay

bestowed by friends. In the intervening

days, I’ve thought about my body’s harsh decay

and wondered at my spirit’s tender greening.