The rosy-fingered dawn
is gone.
The sounds of the sea
have fled.
I watch the day bloom,
a bird, a dog, a man on
the floor below singing.
A crossroads approaches,
I gather my strength.
Change is elusive to find
because it is omnipresent.
Find me on the other side
of all of this and I will wait for you.
We, of this moment, will not be the same.
We cannot be, our self shaped by the swift current
etched from a thousand natural shocks,
molded from that hard innocent clay.
This change will propel me
towards rebirth, and further rebirth.
An image of an image of an image,
far removed from that original model
of Ohio autumn, a dream of a far off place.
For there is nothing good or bad, but thinking makes it so,
and to me it is not a prison, but a playground.
This change encircles me, engulfs me, swallows me whole.
