Fundamental Manifestation of Something Called the Self

for Margo

Each one of us, you even and me
too, we are our own

topographical map of emotional
landscapes: the memories of flesh and bone

existing in the rolling emerald fields of feeling. We are
refractions of moonlight reflecting who we really are. Our voices,

stretch out to call, and sometimes even
to scream or weep,
~          ~        ~      at the waxing

shape which fades into itself in lunar cycles. Daily ritual
sometimes becomes smudges on the stage

acting as the world would. The movement of fingertips
gliding along the delicate surface of paper is the record

keeping of an unseen interior space beyond bones ascending
to descend in a single respiration.