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Poem

Reality doesn't exist until it is observed or measured
……Quantum Theory

When it comes to atoms, language can be used only as in poetry.”
……Niels Bohr

I am not sure if it matters
but there is a solace
in the ritual of finding words 
to fit the shapes and shadows 
that rise like bubbles in the mind, 
to hold them before they burst 
and become what's left behind.
It's hard to figure out 
and sometimes all you can do
is to hang on for the ride.

This morning was like this,
delicately balanced on a breath.
But it was me who was a bubble 
waiting for lips to give me a name, 
uncertainty gathered
into a floating ball looking 
for a shape to fit, something solid, 
a chance for me 
to become altogether real.

I felt brittle, about to be timed out,
a fragile thought slowly unraveling 
in a waking brain. I was neither 
alive nor dead, but a shadow
held in the in-between 
until some caring soul
cast a glance and fixed
this fuzzy ball of chance
within a world of reality
where I fell, once more, 
mortally into me.

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