I am staring out of a window.

It is a train station,

mid-morning

or maybe early afternoon,

I have been sitting so long

it’s not quite up to me to say

Anymore.

Once upon a time

Time flowed easily for me

forward and back

Whichever direction I so desired

Goddess of my own creation.

Then Time slowed

And I found myself here -

a watcher have I become.

Yearning to seek that internal chord

that pulls us all into unity

And I could not find it.

Rather I found people

Abundantly populated

passing before my very still eyes

and disappearing just as suddenly

with no trace left behind.

How many lives have we passed

not seeing them not seeing us?

How many lives will we pass

where this ache to know

another’s intimate truths

continues to go unanswered?

I am staring at a window,

but the only person staring back

is me.