Even the ones 
I thought were
different turned out 
as the same 
is that reflection 
a reflection on
them or me
and who’s the 
mirror to whom

Out there somewhere 
beyond that door 
the world does 
but in here
between the rooms 
and their photographs 
and the memories 
that playfully dance 
in front of 
the orange flames 
I see shadows 
of times once
fade to ash

Do it
and do 
it well
and do 
it over 
and again 
and by
the next
try the 
why then 
will come 
and you 
will see

It is easy 
to find peace 
in one’s silence 
and calm in
one’s own order
but to find 
them in drama’s
droves and in
chaos’s own cacophony 
takes the kind 
of present being 
that only the 
truth of knowing 
one’s soul comes 
trusting in that 

Imagine having been 
and then not
and then again 
like a roast
turned into soup 
turned to stock 
for something else 
so it goes 
this whittling away 
and adding more 
to new adventures 
of another day