Well, I suppose we all
live in different worlds
and intersect each other
tenuously, along the meanings
of words and gestures
and a set of frames
we each call every day

And only in haphazard ways
sustain the prevalent illusion
of having a shared world
and similar perceptions

And so it’s not so strange, perhaps
to see the old man otherworlding,
slouching and nodding, sleeping in his chair,
and waking, seeming that he doesn’t see us,
or making statements
from some other when and where

I guess we choose our levels
of intersection, how much we work
on depth in our connections,
how much we try to reconcile
what others see with that which we perceive

Perhaps he’s tired of working at it
(and also never really tried)
and now he simply drifts,
or else he chose to leave.

©Wendy Mulhern
January 6, 2017