What I am In
Holding out the results
of what-I-have-done
to show everyone -
to show myself.

Who am I with my hands out
cupping what I do,
holding poems
and knowledge,
holding things -
handing things to people?

Autumn spreads through my garden
and what I do falls over dead.
A momentary lapse,
and what I do crashes into potshards.
Years pass and noone remembers
the me who was, building monuments.

Who am I with my hands out
cupping nothing,
when there is nothing to show
but what I look inward to see?

Where do I put myself
when what I am in is gone?

3Aug95



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