metamorphosis

Ken

when I stood

between two lampposts,

a shadow splits

directing in opposite ways.

Both feet coincided with mine

That was then 

a chilly winter, now 

it happens again, in the 

quietness of my thoughts 

with the gathering

of the observed and 

being observed,

the ceaseless activity

of my fingers 

not even a strand of hair

divides between me 

and the sunset. 

I am the bird

the sea , the falling leaf

I am anger, jealousy,

the gurgling rivulet.

I am you, the moth

the mother and

in this stillness, I see

no more