What about those times
when you say you feel fine—
not sick and not well,
not relieved, but not particularly
miserable; when you do or don't stop
to muse a little, or complain, or
demand a satisfying explanation
from anyone about anything;
when you get through all your email
but haven't begun to reply;
when you don't mind crying
as long as it's because of the bracing wind
blowing in off the lake, the onion
your dutiful chef's knife is chopping,
or the big song from a movie
coming on full-blast in the car;
when you have neither failed nor succeeded
at graciously receiving the redundant
gift you've just been given,
deciphering the confusing
wording on the assembly instructions,
or giving your last trace of love
to this small battered animal
called daily life
who must trust someone soon
if it wants to survive
but doesn't remember how
and has no idea who?
