The path

The pathway through

the spine is narrow.

Sometimes it gets

smaller and crowds

the spinal nerves.

My darling, my love

is in the hospital

with this condition.

The bone in her

lumbar vertebrae

was squeezing.

The surgeon enlarged

the passage, but now

the membrane that

protects the spinal

nerves had been

abraded and needed

to be patched.

Her horizon now

must remain the plain

of a hospital bed,

she can’t even see

the view of the slough,

and the clouds stacked

above the mountain.

The doctor says 

that thirty-six hours

should tell the tail if

the patch has sealed

around the cord.

After the surgery

when she was put in

her room, night had fallen

and so I could not drive.

I thought of who I might

call or should I download

the app for Lyft or Uber.

But the need to get there

was more urgent, more

embedded in my heart

so I decided to walk.

With a small flashlight

and my cell phone,

it should be alright,

a walking prayer along

the dark and narrow path.

An act of active faith.

The test was harder

than I expected, most

of the path along the

former railroad is darkened

by tall redwoods and

my flashlight was too dim

to see the concrete

dotted with fallen leaves

from the storm. I made it

to the hospital. The walk

back home was harder.

Sometimes my steps

wandered onto the soft

turf beside the path.

I stopped and found

my way each time

until I reached the lights

of town where the shops

and theater lit the way.

IIn the morning I drove

back to the hospital

and spent the day

with her, helping her

to eat and reading

a story to her about

a giraffe who was ferried

down the Nile and sailed

across the sea from

Cairo to Marseille.

From there she walked

to Paris in 1829, a gift

from the Viceroy of Egypt

to the King of France.

Today my love will see

if she can sit up without

the pain, if the patch

has sealed the spinal leak

and this can be the final

steps to her recovery

and safely home.