There’s an awful lot
of having to accept
‘things I cannot change’ and it comes
in fits & starts. Sometimes, with utter grace –
serene-swan aplomb –
others? well…. not smiling through tears so much
as shaking through fears, flailing for floats and
finding only anchors. Words
are islands, are icebergs
                            (which often overturn,
                             morass of emotions exposed)
are mirages, sea-mist evaporating
of light reflecting.
Their outright dissembling sparks the most fear; when thought
is blank as fog-wall descending.
So far tho, that fear still fires the scour-clear:
more ashen than feather-fall
what I summon does still come.