YOU ARE NEVER CURED
The unexpected happens.
Another disease, not the one
you are interested in, perches
on the bedside table, chirping
like it's six in the morning.
Another day to ease into
gradually - not as before
when the sun leapt into place
every place you cared to look.
Another piece of the puzzled
argument, nesting in the eye
of the beholder. One
more grey hair on the pillow,
another day to seize and say
a prayer for, one more sparrow's
homily, shifting for a seed.