Recently.

Recently, I have lost myself. I sit at the window with the pen, in the posture of the old days, and tap my lips beneath my furrowed brow, in every posture of interminable depth. But, behind the glass, I find myself inturned to search, only, my own thoughtlessness. I opened up my stomach to the void, and my voice echos eviscerated and empty. Every day, this week, I have woken with the thought determined in my mind to find a path back to the way I used to be. It is not, as it should be, like desperation... more, it is a settled and domestic impulse, not unlike rivetting myself to the task of fixing the loose plank of the deck or taking my old clothes to the charity dump bins. I tell myself, I tell myself all the time, that I just have to crawl down on my knees and get my hands dirty.

Finding one's soul is not like weeding a garden.