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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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