Subtle Divergence

By Al Konda

 

The room remained, yet something turned aside,

No step aligned in quite the way it had;

Each path still moved, though not in equal stride,

And held a course no longer quite as matched.

 

Yet every line described the same slow arc,

Though measured now against a different rule;

The angles held, yet turned about their mark,

And traced a form no longer fully true.

 

No shift declared itself as loss or gain,

No sign arose to name what had begun;

The space remained, yet did not hold the same,

Though all continued as it had been done.

 

It did not break, nor move to come apart—

Yet difference held within a single part.

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When difference does not declare itself

There are moments when nothing appears to change.

The structure remains.

The motion continues.

Everything proceeds as it has.

And yet—something is no longer identical.

Not enough to be named.

Not enough to be measured.

But enough to exist.

Each path still follows its course.

Each movement still holds its form.

But what once aligned now carries a slight difference—

not in direction,

not in distance,

but in the rule that governs it.

Nothing breaks.

Nothing separates.

Nothing calls attention to itself.

And still, what continues is no longer the same.

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© Al Konda · The Poetry Elite