I am my own true fit and counterfeit,
true gold and fool’s gold, their opposition
not surviving this life’s intricacy,
neither driving out each other’s other
What am I to make of myself but ceaseless
forming of unresolvable formlessness,
sometimes shameless in its heated heaving
sometimes weighted with patient blind waiting?
In possessing myself, I dispossess
myself of myself, pass into passing,
leaving behind trinkets that mark a path
beyond my own way of remembrances
“Am I or am I not?” becomes the sea
of “was” or “was not,”, time’s own shoreless “be”