Equipoise

 

Standing in that place of non-being,
barely remembered as who I was,
dragging dry fingers across the past,
feeling the paper thinness of time,

striving for balance, that sense of
being commensurate, trying to be
level, to compare now with what
was, and holding the scales of love,

tipping this way and then that, with
weights of memory, different in size,
and shape and form, hoping that
heart and mind will agree, that there

will form, a correspondence which
can emulate, something sane, and
firm, and real, that can consist of
what was and what is now, like

co-ordinates which will show me
the way, draw together the full
parallels so that they are level, and
square with what is needed, if peace

of mind is to be found again, if there
can be uniformity with new identity,
which will hold in measured grace
who I have become; which can

deliver, cradled in smooth, white
palms, the secret which will lead
me on to the treasure which must
exist, although hidden - equipoise.