How
does
the
shards
of whatever
is left
come
together
and equal

the damp palms
the heart not resting
the mind not sleeping
the twisting in
my belly

the fight with my features
to stay as they should,

the music not salving
the words, the touch not satisfying


the disappearances
of intangible ties.

how do you stay whole, with the emptinesses

so glaringly apparent?