when will it come?

I fight against succumbing to impatience
for a hard display
of solid buoyant evidence
of glad recovery from my stroke’s
dulling of my limbs
that threatens my composure every day

They are, I feel,
when valuating morning comes
too slight, too far away.  
And I am daily left unsatisfied and drained

And so I ask, “How long will I refrain,
sustain my will,
in light of this unsubtle bleakening,
from giving in
and then admitting that I am undone?”.