Of course light unfurls from her body, and the moon glows gold in the distance.  [...]

When I woke up in recovery, I had this song in my head. [...]

She massages the scar, small circles with an index finger on my chest's red line.  [...]

Why do I stand unmoved, jaded as a tabloid, refusing astonishment, not down on my knees, but sober as stone— surely 19th-century spelunkers, pranksters, or WWII resistance fighters passing hours in the belly of the mountain made these bison, these bearded horses.  [...]

Up from the massage table I catch sight of myself in the unavoidable mirror.    [...]

Bare-chested isn't bare-breasted, whatever the police might say.    [...]

When I want breasts, I wear my Dolly Parton bra. Bigger than mine ever were—why not? It's all make-believe now, like Dolly's hair. My friend May wears her prosthesis every day, but it makes her arm swell. When she goes home she can't wait to take it off. I say, "May, you've been through too much to keep helping people out. If they don't know by now about cancer, then it's time they did."   [...]

The language of this new country is broken branches. I am waiting to hear them speak.   [...]