Stilling my mind is
willfully avoided. 
If I allow myself too
much quiet alone 
time, all the filing
cabinets fly open,
memories and incidents,
pain and disappointment
all erupt from their 
carefully arranged 
system of cautious 
ambivalence like so
many little brown bats
leaving the cave at dusk.
Only, those little bats come 
back to roost. 
I am left to grapple
with where to file
the death, the illness,
the trauma, the mislaid 
plans.

6/6/25
KW