Metaphoric substitutions and adept subjects

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.

Your view?

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