Given Up For Glad

You don't understand,
I say, not understanding.

You can't see the forest
through the trees, 
is about the easiest way
I admit not seeing,
for my calm confidence
is the practiced product
of equilibrium's
delirium.

You've given up,
she says, more aggravated
than disappointed (for being
denied any resolution), as if
there was ever something
in my grasp to give
up.

I have,
conceding for sake
of simplicity. Though 
it occurs constantly 
without warning:
the shiver-triggers,
my constitution
uncrumbling from
shallow wondering,
before I figure,
once again and again
and again, it must be
best this way.