With a nod to superstition

and a slew of statisticians,

I humbly ask permission

that the R word — remission —

be admitted to my mission.

Impossible, you say? Not enough contrition?

Too bold and grand a vision?

Should I settle for submission

to glio docs making all decisions?

Or should I give myself permission

to decide with precision,

to trust my intuition

remain open to revisions,

and enjoy this intermission.

Consider manumission

from cancer’s grip a commission

to treasure freedom even more by fishin’

for the endless bounty of love transmissions.