Solitude

Like a solitary voice,
suddenly echoed.

What is other —
what doesn’t speak my language —
sometimes accepts, even suggests,
these encounters.

And I keep them
as images.

I am alone.
Alone in kind, alone in form.
Yet never abandoned.

I am accompanied
by the shared creation
that vibrates through all things.

Each being,
human or not,
an organ
in a vast, unseen body.

The same impulse
that pushes me to photograph
again and again —
that wonder at what is —
moves outward and inward
in the same rhythm.

It reaches through my limbs
and meets

stone, moss, rain, wave —
as if all of us
had been waiting
for the same wind
to pass through.

That breath
is shared.