as far as she
shines
flyeth she
till a wall
wherein she’ll penetrate
curiously and see
behind
to the next wall
how she might
despair
fantasizing
great flocks
of dust mold’d
with space
to a clay
ever confusing
and reidentifying
I’m born
I live
I die
(suppos’dly)
Something’s before
during
and after
me
(suppos’dly)
but
of myself a part
has always been
I
of Everything
or is Everything
Me?
for Now
…perhaps