Sometimes I try to project
All the anxiety I feel
onto a perfect landscape and watch it disappear
I think of all the
relaxation tapes that
I've listened to and crashed
And all the time
I've laughed at the words
"Heal Yourself"
Why am I so afraid.

I kind of knew
long before I officially
Knew —
That was on August 16, 1988
After all,
My lover died from it.

I try to relax about it
But that doesn't work
Deep breathing for the cold seething
That offers nothing
But the certainty
Of slow deterioration
And then I convince myself
That it must be inevitable.