201/365: Brief Worlds and Chaos
Water gathered itself on petals,
remarkable and coherent,
and I stood there,
a suddenly noisy thing,
a wealth of static
bound by no single, surrounding border.
I had grown one thousand million borders,
rings around particles of unknown what,
and I was no longer a pattern that lead to recognition.
I was lost.
The gathered waters were brief and knowable,
and I was a broken signal in need of hope.