In a touching tribute to his wife, Bobby, he compared their love to "the love of old horses in a field, head to tail, gently sweeping flies off each other's faces, our eyes half closed to the sun. We stand by a gate for the hay to come or another cool rain. Ours is love beyond time while tall grasses grow and grow."

For the title poem, Brewer realized his "anatomy" no longer matched most other humans, his stomach shaped like a "J," veins running "silent and deep and not where surgeons expect them," comparing his "inner rumblings" to a "whale song."

Describing chemo, Brewer pronounced it "not too bad — like the time I fell out the back of a semi running 100 mph on I-80 between Rawlins and Rock Springs and got dragged 20 miles til I got knocked loose by a 'Sharp Curve' sign then thumped by the next 15 rigs till I rolled into the median where the magpies waited to peck at my scalp in the afternoon sun. Yes. I've had worse."

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E-mail: dennis@desnews.com