XLIII: The Monk is on the Hill, and I: the Ditch

Now what? These nerves? And truly no escape?

But nothing ill has e’en occurred to me.

Is my resilience weaker than a grape?

At zero signs of trouble, do I flee?

How is’t I’ve not the stomach for a day,

e’en if that day has little going right?

In what an antimeditative way

I see the mirror of my day in fright?

“Not all is wrong!” I say, in truth, to me

(and what’…