I am really really wanting to figure this out. This thing I do. This way I get pulled out into the circle of the people I’m with and lose my own feet. This way my consciousness gets right up and goes and sits on your lap.
I am the fern who grows only into the little space offered by my neighboring ivy and sage.
I am the bright foreign exchange student who knows philosophies with intuitive insight but cannot say “I want a loaf of bread” in English.
I am the small child who knows how to shield his mother from anger but cannot tie his shoes.
I will tell you what I think, then read your face to learn my wisdom.
Was I brilliant or naive tonight?
I am a prophet with him and an empty shell with her.
Where is my own heart and the knowing of things when you stand here?
My mind is looking for the thing it alone obstructs.
I try relating with form where there is none.
There is no this for figuring.
Only coming back here, to where I live. Alone and amongst all of you.