Meta-feelings

I crawled back into bed

alone this time

or instead willed myself toward

the door

the mat

the room across town.

What could fill me, now.

The churning,

no, it hasn’t stopped and

neither have I, really,

who could at a time like this

—it is always a time like this,

there is no excuse—

Yet seeing is somehow

in itself a change,

and don’t I move differently, now,

at least when I’m alone.

and don’t you think that’s what

time does.

I’ll keep going, now,

find me again this time.