Woven

The snap of a shutter,
so quiet and final.
A face, landscape, street, disaster
pixilated into eternity.
 
Laughter,
the smell of good food.
The rhythms of the kitchen:
move around her,
stir here,
wash that,
cut more,
and of course, taste.
 
Further in 
and smaller still.
It never ends
from cell,
to nucleus,
to DNA,
to nucleotides,
to atoms,
to electrons.
To study.
To discover.
To wonder.
 
You say  "こにちわ"
I say "hello."
and to understand you more 
is a task worth undertaking.
 
How can I decide between 
the intricately woven pieces 
of this thing called myself?
No.
Somehow,
I'll find a way,
Perhaps the dream is the very act of finding it.

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