Things can spring apart,
blocks burst loose and tumble —
there can be rubble,
and all the places
things used to fit
can be obliterated

You can have a sense of
no order, no place
to put anything, no place
to sit down even,
no rest for the insistent
and erratic
loopings of your mind

You can call it
a waste howling wilderness,
and that may be a clue

For everything that matters to you
is held where nothing that can fall apart
will touch it.
Its inviolability is proof
of what’s real,
its presence
what will lead you
all the way out of the fray
and on to sweet abiding peace.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 14, 2015