Alone

Trees overlook, her footsteps resonate,
far from the crowd, far from the noise
that rises up into the air--like swirls
of mist. Mist that saturates, mist that occupies
the mind, that doesn't let us think.

Mist that chains our thoughts in our physique,
urging us to bow before the current. It's hard to
raise one's head when an invisible force pushes
it back down. It's hard for her to raise her hand
when a million others are grasping the breeze, gasping
for attention, waiting to be released.

Eyes stare when she carves her own design. But
listening to her musical footsteps, the sound
of her feet claiming the land they walk on--is
so much more heartening, more empowering
than having them lost. Lost like a black speck in a
trail of ants, like a single note in an endless symphony,
like a single star in the darkened galaxy.

She can hear herself breathe, conscious of every
flutter of her eyelash. It's so much more enlivening
than inhaling the mist that was exhaled by billions of
souls. She can sense her body working, hear it
chugging in the silence of solitude, hear her thoughts
speak louder than the babble of voices she left behind.

A babble of voices with no meaning. A sorry mixture
of bass and falsetto, tears and laughs--a trail with no
destination, a pathless concoction. Minds that don't agree
can never create a beautiful musical piece, a harmonious
canvas. Her solitary mind can, though. Because a single
drop of water is more precious than a torrent, because a lone
star in the universe can give birth to life--while a medley
of them only destroy what was never conceived.