I am!
Am I?
What I?
Who is I?
I the me, or I the lie.
Where resides this sly I?
Is it fleeting and formless,
or seemingly seamless?
Somedays you see me,
but can you know me?
How can you know me?
If I’m “X,” the unknown?
A grounded plane
that remains unflown?
If I’m a tank
of grinding gears?
A blanket woven
sum of all fears?
I the river.
The bag of molecules
varying year to year.
In flux.
A current pulsed
through a wire—
a live wire.
Whose hum is felt
down a stringless string.
