when i don’t sleep, 
instead working long on 
gilding the rumpled 
creases of my moleskine, 
i’m fine. 

when i don’t gild, 
i will page through 
feathered books, and 
know every word. and then, 
i’m fine. 

when i don’t fit, 
i do not fold in neat quarters, 
i crumble, dust spills and flakes 
from me.