Transient

I used to pride myself on an adaptable nature.
Let the backdrop and scenery change,
Let all other actors be removed;
The show would go on.

But I seem to have lost my place in the script.
I don’t remember this scene-change;
These lines are unfamiliar to me–
The characters, too new.

Maladjustment is a new feeling for me
Who could create home ex nihilo,
Able to use words for walls,
To use thought as a nail.

But now, in this protracted transition
I have not yet found my home–
Not in long-beloved books,
Not in oft-sung melodies.

Still, I will not fear this transiental drifting
As long as I have the familiarity
Of warm peppermint tea
In a black mug.

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