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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