To say just what you feel is never easy.
A woman’s clothes lying by her feet in a pile
might be the foam from which a goddess is born
or the frothy breakers of a sea
that might rush in and overwhelm us.
We can think that our acts are not our own
and rather come flying along
like migrating birds and they can seem
just stories you hear about someone else,
but most of life is lived a thousand times;
once by us and once by each observer.
Soon to be published in Cyphers magazine