The Final Arc
for Alan Sullivan
No place in the nuke ward but the MRI
delivers menace more than medicine;
though not for me; through these four years of dying
there have been few surprises; I have seen
my tumors shrink or grow with no prognosis
for salvation; but today a ceaseless sobbing
cleaved through the whispered conversations and curses
futile as a penitent before a king.
Strapped to the gurney, I am no longer trapped
and the Spirit knows where I was blind; I pray
and the Dove flies from me as if the flood
of fear was a phantom its wings could wash away
and in the silence of the ward I crack
a joke. The laughter is our gopherwood.