chapter eleven: faithfulness

I feel it
coming back to center.

What should I compare it to?
The pendulum of a grandfather clock.
      (Does it stop? If it stops, is it broken?)
      Then no, I don't mean that.
Vibrations that play tricks on your eyes.
A clanging cymbal—
wavy like heat, like energy—
finally becoming still. Solid again.
Though it was always solid,
and only seemed to disintegrate
when being struck, hard and
     repeatedly;
only when making that shrieking sound
like panic, or crashing. Anyway,

I witness that phenomenon
     (I think they call peace)
where you feel that nothing is the same,
but on second thought
nothing was wrong;
and the night when I grasped
at the sheets,
pulled down the curtains
and screamed into the dark
was a fever dream
where I had lost and could not find
myself.

But I am awake now,
and all here. 
My feet will never again
step on yesterday—when I laid down
(when I felt myself split in two, but I remained as one)—
but it is today, 
and mostly the same.
I think I could probably
find
many things
unchanged.