Thursday, March 29, 2012


He often wonders who he is.
Is he a complex collection
of cells and connective tissues
and bones that easily break? 
Is he his thoughts and feelings
as they fly through his life
like hawks or hummingbirds
or quarrelsome old crows?
Is he a piece of the breezes
that blow by him as he sits 
beside a river with a friend,
the friend who found him last year, 
when he slowly started to see
who he really was,
like a submarine surfacing
and seeing something like paradise?

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