Invisible Changes

Shifting beneath the surface. Slow, like the plates of the earth separating.

I am becoming something else, not sure who or how. It just is. I just am.

I feel a monumental swell right beneath my breast bone. It rises, falls; heaves like the sea. It pounds the shore, rushes up, recedes. The undertow is so strong. So, I just hold on to whatever I can. Each day the configuration of the shoreline changes. Tomorrow the place where I stand will be washed away. But there will be a new place to stand.

I may be unsteady, my feet sinking into the sand, there's nowhere solid to land. I practice balancing. I fall to my knees. I grab at seaweed and rocks just to have something in my hands, something to stop me from slipping.

At twilight I thank all that I can't name. I catch my tears in silver thimbles. I tell myself I can go on, even if I don't know where I'm going.