The High Ground of July

I'm just a man in the crowd,
One of a million steps on the stairs,
Yet there is no world except my own.

They all are alternative
Versions of myself,
Like rivulets of light in leaden glass

That show me what I look like
In all my phases of the moon,
In all the veils of lifetimes I've assumed.

Together we can see the river and the sky
Exchanging light, the beauties
Of this place as for the first time.

Our talk is like a madness,
Only understood by us,
How easily we sway from side to side.

And yet we wear such deathmasks,
Protections of a grave,
As if each one begins and ends inside.

Let's come out of our solitude,
The trees speak with our voice to birds
With minds of cloud that move as rocks need light.

Let's watch the radiant dust
Of the high ground of July
As the edges merge to one delicious whole.