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Chronic Illness There is this gap When you drop out of sight. The fulcrum has vanished And you no longer pivot In response to the world. You respond to an inner necessity: The imperative to survive. That is your reason to continue. Nothing else has meaning. Everything else is trivial. When your breath hinges on a pill, When you know it's only a matter of hours Before you run out of air, You make it your business to focus continually On the pivot And your life as a secret, silent cygnet Who can never plume itself Plumb its depths Or pirouette.
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