What Makes Me
There is a daily grind
That whirs and mills the dust and air
So close to my fragile mind
It stirs and pulls at loosened hair
Somedays I sit and feel the breeze
Its gentle tug at all my cares
Let it caress me wantonly
But keep my distance well aware
There will be times I get too close
A finger snagged, arm yanked and snared
Caught and crushed between the stones
Left pulverized beyond repair
Best those days to just jump in
Deep breath, head first, without a care
Let it grind me down and then
Rebuild myself from powdered air
— April Resnick
Flour Mill Interior & doves by Michael Dumas
sometimesihatemycat 
Really great (and hopeful?) ending:
Let it grind me down and then
Rebuild myself from powdered air
Thanks. Was trying to capture both relinquishment and hope…glad I did.
… losing the sense of self, and just watching the process, like a magician
Wonderful comment. Thank you. Perhaps a magician that makes her own magic. ;-).