There is evidence of a correlation between how much one can feel and how one can heal. (Rebuilding, page 54)

How long ago since I last answered the question
“How do you feel about blank” with his name,
his attitude? A while, but not long enough.
I’m feeling these days. Sometimes guilty,
sometimes lonely, sometimes bored,
sometimes filled with the anticipation
for the project, can’t wait to find the hammer
so I can start, so I can create. Then the pieces
weren’t there, built-in wait, readymade frustration —
do I go to the office building at bedtime,
carrying boxes from an empty building
to a waiting car, inviting people to believe
they might be valuable to somebody but me?
And I’d have felt bereft, I would have grieved
to lose the images of great-great-great-grands,
to let my history vanish. I’d have felt more feelings
than any poor snook who took my treasure
to find absolutely no value. Me? I’ve found
a cache of gold. I’ve found my feelings.