Some days, my body and I have a battle–
stormclouds stuffing my right leg, my stomach

like bees in a kettle drum. I wait
for the patience to come and find me,
hungry in the same way
I always am–for quelling the noise
inside me. Some days, a dam breaks
and threatens to flood my thoughts
with desolation. I am familiar
with these subtle movements, the groaning clamor
of this container–this inhospitable ground
& consecrated space.