these little cards

a pile of business cards

loosely gathered together

dreams sketched out

in the shape of names and titles

that mean nothing to everyone

but something to someone

hastly scrawled phone numbers -

a change in business, role, location, identity.

they were pressed into my hand

(sometimes i had to snatch them)

a hope a promise a thought a question

will you save me/ please work with me/promises/ really, i don't know

i could organise and re-organise them

in the past i've hung and sorted them

trying to understand and comprehend them.

where do they belong?

There may well be a Great Employer

but do we really all work for her?

i know these are blessings

these attempts at difference-making

bits of thought - what little phrase to make them remember

(donate call me do business get out of their routine)

strung together at the end of meetings

all the same size

directors and interns and musicians

these restless moving cards

easily caught by the shifts in the wind

or stuck into a drawer and forgotten

moving between us like gifts - burdens

he said they were the signs

of blessed unrest

shifting shaping unrelentlessly making

an emergency response for Gaia's flailing systems

these little cards

which so inadequately describe the shape of a life

no matter how richly decorated or conceived

but of course

we are so finite - only our souls

can possibly travel beyond our selves

these little cards

i would weave them into a pattern

but they keep changing

and i keep loosing

which card really

represents this - my - reality.