Diagnosis BY MEENA ALEXANDER So how will it end? You want it straight? He looked me in the eye: You will lose weight,   Become more and more tired. This kind will not enter your bones or brain. I stared at him, ravished. Could not pluck my eyes from his old man face. — Later the cuneiform earth Skimmed in snow Inviolate bones Torn ligament of language. A skeletal beauty Stars still uncover. — Come dawn a young doctor In reddening shirt sleeves, His voice quick, prickly undersong— No grandeur here, Just breath assuaging its own battery. Flash of sempiternal spring? A [...]