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