As you go along..

I make it up.

I make up days and months and letters written and torn over this loss.
I make up work and nights and waking dreams.
I make up my face, my mind, my resolve, then break it, and make it up again.

As you go, I go, too, back and forth, on my word, on my mind,
up and down with moods, up by day time and night time, with rational season and seasonal reason.
I make it up - like food, like poetry, like pottery.
then eat it, and breathe it, and break it. It goes in and out of existence.

Is it getting over and getting better, or maybe just forgetting more and forgetting better?
But now and then, here and there, time and again,
it does get better, as you go along, and as I make it up.