So ashen and remote had I become
That all the luminary wild within --
The prism colors yet unflecked, unknown,
Unfocused and unmirroring of sin --
Darkened to nil, and every youthful twist
Had long forsaken me. I had no choice
But to surrender to a surgeon's tryst,
Hands on my heart to cut and to caress
Deeper than any lover ever would.
Fear was no albatross, for you were brave
And I could brook no life without the brood
Of light and hue to guide me to my grave.
In older age across this cherished span
Of artful years I thank you, dearest man.
- Emanuel E. Garcia, MD