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.