everything as it should be
everything in its
right place
complete
without
yearning
of any kind
made real by the
very presence of my
reconstituted self
not strewn over a barren desert
doubt plunging like night as shadows fall
self-assured and resilient
going every which way in a typically busy day
it falls
apart
so easily
when I think
about
her
in a moment of temporary
lucidity I can preach to
my own sanity and see
that there
is a
gaping
hole where
nothing is the matter
she used
to be
reassure myself
and in a
desert
desperately
I will stay