Mornings, I quiver; I shake –
these tremors like those in an old man’s hand
as he grips his notched walking stick.

Evenings, I shiver; I quake –
survive astonished by aftershocks of
seismic event: my diagnosis.

Devastating upheaval –
disease of two poles and medications
still shifting; unsteady ground, I am.

Cataclysmic disturbance –
I shudder and trace imaginary

biochemical fault line that’s not my fault.

Trembling, tumbling, trying
to remember or forget my hopes and
fears before another aftershock hits;

Shivering, shuddering, seeking