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.