I struggle every day to remain well,
It's an obstacle course, of sorts,
Yesterday, I was ko'd, knocked out,
But before the count of 10 I was
Up again, fighting to recover balance, poise, on my toes.
Today I fast
Hoping I will recover, in time
To watch a film, have a meal,
Get up from my bed. Be well.
It's been like this since cancer struck.
Illness has liberated me from any vestiges of arrogant complacency.
When I can walk, I look at people's
faces and wonder what crosses
they themselves must carry.
The secret is to see myself as lucky
my family, my writing  my pup,  music and study
All insulate me from the demons of despair.
But, on wild nights or windy, I wonder
Where we'd be without this fall into mortality:
a pre-lapsarian paradise where those we love will never die
and nightingales will, forever, sing in full-throated ease
beneath the truest and bluest of high summer skies.

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