I was gutted, hollow as a blown bird's egg.
Superficially intact, well rounded,
smooth; in fact, so insubstantial any
gust of trouble whirled me round in circles;
winter gales blew me away. Too fragile
to survive for long uncracked, uncrumbled,
here I am against all odds still running
on empty but puzzled, wondering how
to put life back into a hollow shell.