In being honest with myself
I’m a bit lost - like a poem
That has not found its shape
A voice it has - a destination
Set - but a shape - lost which
Is strange because I’ve always
Had the same shape - give or
Take a few pounds - enough
To entice but not enough to
Fear - as I enter my fifty second
Rotation around this cloudy earth
Perhaps I’ll find my shape
And the fear will dissipate as fear tends to do