Then there are days

Then there are days

When the thought of small steps

Taken in any direction

Is a whisker short

Of overwhelming

Absence is less fond

And more

A malignant presence

Small discrepancies are

Sinkholes

Avoidance an art form

For the less practiced

To slip into

A formation of Canada geese

A puncture in the sky

Through which

The rain falls

The call of a Kookaburra

Not even a chuckle

More of a shriek

The smallest vibration

Loud enough

To imbalance the bones

Of the inner ear

Flood the canals

Bring bile up into the throat

Turning every blessed thing

Under the sun

Into a torture of endurance

On days like these

Reminiscence is less

Of an escape

Than a refuge

Is a point of reference

On a life map.