Passing through

It is not the same.
Or was it just the same?
It is never the same,
again and again.
The light changes to shadows.
The soft ebb and flow
inside the skin
make music as the prime listen
to the hum of the mountains.
The written words conceive eternal stories.
We grow larger, we evolve smaller.
We met at the beach.
We became infinite under the bridge.
The scenes break into another
as we break out of our shallows.
It is never the same
again and again.