On Being Me

Oh, how much I want -
but only sometimes,
to be a seamless part
of this blinding world,

go easy, and
flow on fearlessly,
and find my little space
to rest and grow,

but there is no place
that is shaped like me
and so I struggle
I brood and hide

then slowly slip through
the gold-trimmed clouds,
or tread softly upon
the shifting water's edge

so I don't wake up
the cozy river reeds
or startle the egrets
from their restful pose.

and I listen, I wait,
until I hear the moon
call me softly
from the other world

where shapes and colours
thaw and disappear
into one dark emptiness
where I find that thing called 'me'.