By Lisa Borkowski
If I had a power, I’d be a shapeshifter.
Sometimes I am small and easy to mistake for a speck of dust—something easily swept away.
Sometimes I am enormous, a force so loud and bright, so incredible you could call me the sun and be right.
Most days I am both. Most days I am small and large and loud and quiet and strong and wobbly and more than I could begin to describe.
Most days I am a shapeshifter.
———————————–
The weight of a thousand souls does not stop the churning march of time through life’s desert.
Through time, come rain, the desert flourishes;
Rocks overgrown with moss,
Trees so tall that were they to fall they’d tear the sky in two.
But soon it will dry;
The moss will turn to dirt… will turn to sand.
The desert begins anew.