How to know when to cry out? At the incipient prickle of doubt
mistaken for a subtle rise in temperature? Or at the doubt
after that, threatening to affirm your most miserable surmise?
Or when more insidious doubts start multiplying—start to dance
and surge chaotically like sperm, too speedy and paisley to chart?
Or on the first panicky glance at the vast hall that once was crowded,
the barely hearable gasp and soft stumble of the one beside you? When
the one beside you is suddenly not beside you? When memory of that one
grows too distant not to be doubted?