Back when I was everyone and nothing
I could see through a "me" more easily,
There was always someone scrawling
In the distance that I could perceive,
However imagined, however vague --
The incomprehensible light was
Identified in the shapes that hold it,
What cannot see itself. What better self
To be than this, radiant with sun,
Acting from the urge for the all,
Implacable toward the incandescent invisible.
The apportioning seems so random,
The houses sprawled out endless cul de sacs
And black castles hidden in the hills,
Lifetimes of fuss and care and longing
That make sense to any selves that are present,
Perfect in their realms, how small they become
When mixed together, as places to be
Made space for, the holiest of candles
In a common room of artificial prayer,
Scarcely known except as common themes
Insert themselves between like spider threads:
The weekend that's passed, the weather that's changed,
The ever-present shadow in the distance.
