Thank you for waiting

x.

a silent reproach

a western tanager

listen

these are what you're not

the Nashville rambler

the yellow breasted chat

what you were

that certain slant

that flash of gold

that daring high wire of a

power pole angel

talk to me

tell me a story of salvation

quote me scripture, I don't care

scratch at leaf-mold

crease the gnat-speckled air

and we might catch the

most elusive prey of all

until I have some hope

Sorry for the delay. I have been thinking about you all this time, and I wanted to get something to you, wanted to get this to you, since it is a little less bleak, and I think I owe you that. Or simply want to give you that. Anyone can be bleak right now, it's trying to catch these other moments...

Like yesterday when I was sitting in the chemo chair and the new chemo, the Gemcitabine, was silently dripping from the bag to the tube, through the tube to my port, from my port to the vena cava, and I knew, just in that moment, that I had hope again, that I trusted this Gem of a drug in a way that I could never trust the razor-bladed Xeloda. I knew, all in a moment, that I could live with it.

The chemo nurse, my friend C., had said, "We have people that have been living two years on this Gemzar." Two years! My old friend two years! That's all I want, just two years, an eternity. And I thought, "I can live with this."

I can live with this. I don't know how yet, but I know I can. So far, Lulu and I have done it by getting in bed last night, Friday night, and basically being there ever since, letting other people take care of us. "The main side effect is that your counts will drop," they said. My RBC (red blood cell) is already below the normal range - I'm anemic - but not below the cancer range. I can do this. My liver can do this.

I can do the dead-man's float.

More later.