Tao Song

We create ourselves as we go: 
            memories folding inward 
                        like bread dough kneaded, 
                                    brain convolutions, or 
                                                tangible patterns on the shore. 

We lose ourselves as we move:  
            heat waves shimmering, 
                        dry shapes underwater-like, 
                                    bent mirrors forming  
                                                dust-like, dust-like likenesses. 

We see ourselves as we feel: 
            pulsing fooling senses, 
                        the tree inside, leaving 
                                    bright roots, quicksilver, 
                                                heavy with themselves, us, life. 

We know ourselves as we love: 
            other shadows beside us, 
                        patterns fending themselves 
                                    against us, you, morning, 
                                                slipping inside our silences. 

We save ourselves as we breath: 
            we pipes of ivory organs,  
                        cathedrals of bones,  
                                    tooth-marks on the air, 
                                                we spoken once and gone.

We find ourselves in the way: 
            soul-puffs of dandelions, 
                        beyond ourselves dancing, 
                                    weaving in the wind 
                                                these happy songs inside.