Quick poem this morning over coffee:

Who is the I that I am?

The reflection that dances upon the still, solemn lake

Or the lake itself?

The very idea that bound particles in communion long before any knowing of it

By fallible eyes?

Speak not of the tumbleweed but of the

Invisible force that spirits it across barren earth,

Shifting sands

 

 

Speak not of the stereo

But of the current that makes it sing

 

Of the wind that catches a falcon’s wing 

Lifting it to flight

 

Look beyond toil of of restless throngs to the force that animates souls

Fuels passion and the stubborn drive to persist

The rage and fury that is life