Perspective changes
like molten lava
flowing out of the middle of itself,
entrancing, ever moving
And almost frantically
we throw our stories
on the shapes,
try to define them,
try to find a narrative
that can explain
how we came to feel
so volatile — hot and liquid and
so rapidly falling
to fill the space before us
till it’s gone
and we feel set in stone,
for a while,
until the winds of story
start to blow upon our forms
and break them down.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 7, 2014
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