Poem: It Is Still Slow

It Is Still Slow

A bit more each time, though,
not that it is easier
or that I feel steady,
feel secure.  I wonder
if it will fall apart,
will collapse beneath me.
It might, I think, but
it has not, so far.  Maybe
it will change tomorrow.
If not, it will be the same thing.
That is not terrible, I suppose.
I have other preferences,
if I could choose,
but it is not terrible this way.

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