Where am I located?
I am actions, my body sings
in the world and I am present
and always gone:
here now, in history,
tomorrow, ah tomorrow!
that will come and always go.
Who shall decide my fate, my gate,
to the grave, to the other world,
held now in black,
in mystery, in presence and absence,
in the intra and inter that’s supposed
to be all of me but feels empty indeed?
It is me, only me, speaking, thus I say,
and thinking, and moving, never still,
locating in memory, and sifting notes from long
ago with photo smiles, gone but here
in wonderment—was that me?
Located there? Where? In the bosom of some god,
caught in the substance of the universe itself,
in the cold earth, in desire that wrought
me thus and is for me, my first cause.
The question, the question of being,
of existing here as subject,
as my own cause,
of sensing place and belonging,
of the earth, looking to the sky,
dreaming and imagining,
not held at all,
the maker who is not a god
but subject to the Fall.
Where, oh where, has my little dog gone?
Where, oh where, can I be?