not all loss is intolerable.
there is a feather caught in the fan
whipped round quickly

--some loss leaves you with no breath,
tied to the bed in a tangle of knotted regrets
falling into the hole where there once was
something.

you are fine.
you are not caught in the pull
of a sinkhole. wake up.
shake the mud from your eyes, kid.

it will happen again.