I lounge with my wife, weeks after doctors
sawed my chest bones wide and lifted out my heart.
Holding hands, we watch the waves, the sandhill cranes,
beaks to the wind like weather vanes. Last month,
I listened to neighbors telling fables of near-death,

as if words would console me—a light so bright,
agony wouldn't matter. Maybe like this blazing stairway
to the sun, glittering over millions of sharks
and tarpons. The glare's so bright I'm blind,
and flip sunglasses down from my scalp and blink.

Pain makes surgery easy—a silly, giddy relief,
a straw to grab for, touch of a master's hand—
easy, wheeled down the hall to a bright-lit room
that dazzles, forbidden . . . [Full Text of this Article]