The same as that little boy,
cast again into this foaming flux
by a tug at the chest

(The new equilibrium is somewhere,
maybe. But the basis upended.)

The sitting, the breathing, the mindful teachings.
Quite useless.

All my stilless
All sleep.
All my effortful balance,
All this hard-won peace.

Brick by month, repairing the defences.
The artisan repointing of the battlements
that were so damaged
by ill-considered alliances and dalliances.

What is the use of
all the patient mending?

Every self-help verse,
The delicate heart-to-heart surgery.
The careful inner work.
All my readiness, ready –

Then, your smile
reminded me:

All I have to steady,
bobs in a small paper cup,
in the vastness of a sea.