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