These days

maybe my body is not here yet,

I hurled across the ocean, after all, and those things should take time.

I sleep, involuntarily and repeatedly,

and after a day maybe I wake up.

Does a thing become strange from too much looking?

or is it my mind racing, pouring out through my eyes?

it comes as a surprise:

I can spend hours, days, alone

leaned over the bicycle handles and makeshift drafting tables

ink stained hands, snack strewn kitchen

it's urgent when it's urgent,

and the days move slowly, resisting hurry

when it's only me.

despite the looming Fall of not knowing.

I think I can be okay today because of the Just Enoughs:

space to strew

bouts of company

phones to answer

food in fridge

sun in sky,

cash in wallet

yes, that's it. always. that's the one.

brain surgery while you're wide awake

seeing with the brain not the eyes, feeling with layers
beneath the skin like playdoh, acid options
for losing fingerprints to scar tissue, to breaking and
entering, to leaving no trace

remembering amnesia, forgetting the brain itself
is without receptors for pain, remembering you can go
blind from a brain trauma even if your eyes are fine

too many rememberings for scrapbooking organs
too much for buying a human rib or a clavicle bone
to form around the outside of your own