on moments where it becomes obvious how much you've changed.

if change
is an expansion, I am the center.
I inhale, I exhale. I am part of the world again.

and I find 
pieces of myself in the quiet sound
of ripples against the riverbank, grey and gold,

in the observatory,
the hum of the telescope moving,
the stars overhead myriad, uncountable,

in the stories
we tell ourselves with dice,
with paper, with keystrokes and screens,

in the courage
it takes to end a friendship,
to repair the damage she left in her wake,

in the thrumming
of a bass and flashing lights,
my voice lost in the voices of a hundred strangers,

in flipping pancakes
after the concert, while my friends
chatter at the table, tired and syrup-sweet. 

if what 
I see through this broken kaleidoscope
is still so vibrant— maybe this is enough: 

these moments
when the fog clears, and my reflection
and I sing together, in perfect tune.