Tossed, like cars,
By the winds of my hurricane
Are the little pieces of me.
Moving from here to there
To here to there,
I am scouring for it.
From deep inside my eye,
I long for it.
Crave it.
Envious of the calm waters,
I make them turbulent.
At times a stillness emerges from within.
Though eerie, anemic.
Without destruction there is no dispersion.