It's been a bit jarring, this stumble into symmetry,
my good senses
gluing themselves intact
like an eleventh-hour craft project.
No string sections swelling for this comeback kid--
the just desserts, in this case,
arrive in the form
of a steady hum
that breezes the past away
with the ease of a loose eyelash
flying in a tropical storm.
It took years to embody this equilibrium,
to approach the mid-morning sun
and not recoil from overexposure,
no longer draped in the sweat-soaked robes
of secrecy. I have tripped upon a biome
of bravery, fallen into the measurements
that require no prickly tampering
from the rusty, dulled needle
of a fraudulent tailor.