Needle and the Damage done

Somewhere I can't remember, shards of the word hurt tear boorishly though skin and the needle damages a familiar crevice in my arm. My eyes are closed, so tight, but I can't get away from the color red. I start thinking of lines from one of my favorite poems by cummings:

"or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;"

I imagine the snow, silent and precise. I hear the echo of a verses I cling to:

"therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." (2 Corth 4:16)

"for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith--of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire--may be proved genuine.." (1 Peter 1)

"let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith. Who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider Him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart" (Hebrews 12)

Somewhere I can't remember, I hear someone say, "see you tomorrow." It will be a long week.