There are no words
for who I am. I
build myself up,
I tear myself down.
In one day, how many
thoughts enter and
possess me, and leave
like the light at
dusk? I open a door
on a room filled
with that light.
It isn’t the light
of the sun, or
the moon, but of
dreams that blind.
The light dances
around the chest.
The heart opens
like an eye in total
belief. There is
too much of myself
to separate what’s
real from what isn’t.
There are nights
when the eye cannot
see itself staring
back at itself,
repeating itself,
and stares instead
at a blackness total
and pure, God’s
black hair smoothed
by an absent hand.