Sometimes life evades deterrence and I know the secret lives of things.
Two whispering girls, a watchful child, a man who must have been handsome once, another without gloves, a jovial husband and taciturn wife, an older man silently bullied by a younger woman, two farmers’ sons talking of the city and guns, a scurrying in the bush, a voice, an eye, a patch or crease of skin.
When I breathe it comes in–Life–and I am within something else’s senses. A pistil within some other flower, responding to a companion light, to lives I have not taken. I am made wide open, turned out, at the mercy of its fruition.
I become another, one, many, and when returned to my little life I am small, having left my parts behind in other places. But my living eyes can see further than my own and the sky lights its magic lamps for my keen joy alone.