The Poacher

Looking down at my
horribly painted toe nails
I am filled with dread
for no apparent reason.

Panicked I try to hold
onto the minutes.

I cant, but trying makes
a kind of sense that comforts.

We all have modes of being,
cycles, and it is such a gift
to be aware of our own.

I tend to universalize.
For better or worse
I see the world and
her people as a whole.

Some instincts cannot be tamed.

I read another’s words and suddenly
I feel an urge to protect what’s mine.
To defend against those who would
poach whatever morsels they can
manage.

But, just as suddenly,
the urge passes and I
realize he is no threat.

All partnerships have their ups
and downs, but there is a symmetry
to my chaos which I hope
can be seen and
appreciated.

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