on I go, breaking the agenda
down into baby steps: breathe, sit high,
hit send again. It’s a way to feel
like I’m doing something

while remaining a marsh flushed by tides
of mood that turn in the time it takes
a gleam of ink to fade from the dot
of a lower-case i.

I may look like I know
what I’m doing. I don’t
even know what I look
like I’m doing.