Who are you?
A collection of things to do?
A running loop of gags?
A pattern of flexing muscles?
A pair of eyes tracking stars.
A membrane of skin containing a small drop of ocean.
An understander of nothing.
A counter of minutes until they can’t be counted.
A placeholder for others to subsume and assume.
A gatherer and relinquisher of space.
A leaf-under-foot crusher.
A snail gazer.
A coyote-yarn-spinner.
A man beneath sheets wondering why the north star stays right there.
Sensing a spinning of personal molecules within
and a mindless arc of planets without.
And if the breath were to go away,
A furiously panicked man wondering what was left unseen.
