We’re all water from different rivers,
That’s why it’s so easy to meet,
We’re all water in this vast, vast ocean,
Someday we’ll evaporate together.

Yoko Ono

We are aware only of the empty space in the forest, which only yesterday was filled with trees.

Anna Freud

Perhaps I write for no one. Perhaps for the same person children are writing for when they scrawl their names in the snow.

Margaret Atwood

the morning commute.

Faces slips through
the cracks between
train carriage windows.
One by one
Three by four
until the blur of bodies
And rising voices
Become one moving being,
Inhaling and exhaling
the excesses of the city.

Tanzen wir, oder?

Flashing lights illuminate
sweaty, exuberant faces
and I tilt my head back
reaching my arms to the ceiling
and examining my fingers
as they intertwine
and create their own dances,
as though aware of some other rhythm.

Tick tick

Time
slips through
my grasping fingers
as I search
for something tangible
to pin my spindling
thoughts to,
caught like threads
and tangled up.