How can I act absent when I am so present,
taking in knowledge that is not my own?
In a moment, my path is swept away with the wind.
A wind-up toy, wobbling back down;
A tree with dangling branches
Reaching, alive with life and then death.
Outside of the object and then within.
Perhaps I'm just a shifter.
Fluxing in and out of this place.
Focused and then forced to be embedded.
-Sonja J. Johnston © 18-Dec-2014
No comments:
Post a Comment