A real title might be “All That Was Us”
the thousand fragments of our life,
our jokes, our hopes, our dreams, our routines
swirl in the dying sunlight like a kaleidoscope.
I heard my breath catch,
felt the pull of some forgotten string
that opened – only for an instant –
into a place that was new.
Not better. Just new.
Then the membrane flapped shut.
Something waits beyond the wind,
through the shards of glass
of all that was us.
Wanted or not,
change will come.
“Not better. Just new.” Thanks for this.