In the howl you breathe
and the trees exhale clouds,
who you were is not, in the end,
who you get to be.
Apply the morning liberally,
watch the eyes in the bathroom mirror ripple,
quicksilver like a magic trick,
there and gone again.
If you’ve got one night perhaps you should grasp it,
perhaps you should mask it,
make peace with the stranger who
wakes up in your bed every morning.
What do they always say
when you’re not the static
they think should be?
A.M. Kennedy, “You’ve Changed”