by Mary E. Lowd
You only see a zoetrope of my life
Sampling more regularly sometimes
Less regularly others
And yet you know me so well
I’m forced to admit
All the details
Everything I think in every moment
It must not be necessary
It must be okay to let it flow away
Like the river time has always been
Because even washed away
Leaving only driftwood pieces of me
For you to pick up
Scattered across the beach of time
Somehow
You still see me