Montage

She hears the speed of the wind

as a chatter through the banquet

in slow motion

pressing upon her path

She turns around and sees

faces from the future 

into the past

feigned stability

It is fragile

like all consistency

that shatters in your hands

bleeding through

the dream you once again

wake up from

to put it together

a curious montage

silhouettes

she does not identify

yet, recognize

to let the chatter pass

she becomes invisible

let the fallen leaves be her mind

rest in the season.

11/2/2021, Carrboro

devolved thoughts from a hiking trip