They found a tumor. That is all she said.

Once again the tide of ill rolls in

as surely as the light at dusk will end.

The whole world hangs a fragile spider web,

unimaginably thin, impossibly spread

between the weathered post of the leaning fence

and the low-hung maple branch, suspended

vulnerably in the space of constant threat.

Thunder now. The afternoon showers fall

with sudden gusts of eviscerating wind.

The threads of web buffeted by the all-

out onslaught are pressed to break up in

the crush of the rushing pressure a thousand-fold…

and yet. And yet by God, my God, they hold!

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