Watermark

Thumb tack stabbed array of pictures on my wall,

I find I can look from afar at the people we were

and not have to deal with the people we are.

 

Deja vu, like a watermark on my consciousness,

I keep half remembering something of unknown significance.

The light catches my existence just right and then fades

just in time to put clarity back in the shade.

 

I am and emotion rises; the I that we negotiate

we often forget is only a concept

shaped of the ink stained choices made

among the blur of these two co-arrisings.

 

Perpetuated by our past as we think on what we immediately were,

what it is that we are is nothing of just I or other

but of both, being projected inseperably together.

 

We were not a plural but an existence united,

I am so thankful for this photograph paper and books of old writing

I cannot take it back even in trying

and finally I am and free in appreciating that I don’t want to fight it.