Where can I be?

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.

Located where?

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,

wanderer citizen

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?