Who am I?
A being of light, a traveler, an agent of peace, a confused and lost soul, a worry, an embrace. I am gleaming, a gift, a guffaw, a melting away. I am the opening and closing of time, a postcard forgotten to send in the mail. Rumi says, “I am all orders of being, infinite galaxies” did he say the milky way? I know his poem ends, “Say who I am. Say I am you.” I am an occasional memorizer of poetry, a recreational soccer player, an outdoors lover. I am a human in a body and a soul in the world. I am spinning and lost. I am found in the sunset and sunrise. I am connected and alone. Interwoven and unfrayed. I am blue ink upon a notebook page, and the pen encasing it and writing. I am the paper that came from life cut down to create. I am not afraid to have fluid and expansive definitions. I am concerned we are too defined.
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