Haze drifts from the shore,
Softness of air, and a veil drapes the horizon.
I open my window and gaze at the sea,
Imagine boats sailing far beyond seeing,
The cabins of sailors, the islands,
The cities, whole continents submerged
In the mist. And I wonder what parts
Of my body lie outside my self:
Lungs and the liver, performing
In secrecy, kidneys and spleen
And their intricate passageways,
Miniature battles engaged
By my cells in their silence—
The chemical messages
Sent in the dark, thousands
Of impulses launched every second,
Dispatched and received
In unconsciousness.
Throbbings of worlds in my body, unseen
By me, unaware—What thing am I?
Many or one?
Where is the nub of me?
Is it my spongy gray fold of a brain,
Nerve endings,
Skin, lopsided cavities?
Which is the piece that picked glass from the sea?
Which is the piece that conceded to love?
And the piece that spent love for this home
That is homeless, spent blood flesh
For bloodlessness? How did it happen?
From where comes this feeling of wholeness
When so much is scattered, invisible, mute?