The cancer flames up in my head
I am a singing bush in the rain
on a wide and mossy trunk
speaking and singing alone to the big void
lines of teeth on stone lips multiplying outward
sending up fiber optic lines
the office ceiling of deep caves
torn menus glue rolled to curving walls
bluebells springing from the close corners
short shelves stacking space
into the agony of my ribs
gills in the searching arm that claws
after me all my life
lowering closed
legs finger an opening.