Weeding Small Delusions

In all sorts of frightening
And comforting ways, you can
Forget that you’re not alone.

The scratching in the dark hall
In the middle of the night
Can whisper wild animal

Until you recall you have
Been babysitting a cat
That sleeps in the spare bedroom.

The warmth from your sheets at dawn,
When your brain’s still half adrift,
Can let you dream of gone years

When you used to share your bed.
Confusions intensify,
Of course, with illness and age,

And strong pain medications,
And epistemology
Becomes, as you practice it

Now in ordinary hours,
More a rudimentary
Checking of the sensory

Against shuffled memory
To come to an agreement.
This is what truth is these days—

Reminding yourself you are
The source of most of your own
Uncertain experience,

And you should probably check
Shadows so you don’t expect
Too much from their existence.