I hear this cancer sprouting from my head,
white lilies, twelve abreast and dying,
loosed horses gallop on an open plain-
freed yet frightened.
I see this tunnel vision within eye,
empty page, blank universe of sky,
swings on rope and wood
falls to ground.
You once said, as if it mattered
never bury seedlings quite so deep,
cleaved from skin and bone, we weep
my blood will seek its own level.