Here in the light
that forever fights the darkness,
we exist. Incomplete
            objects;

nothing more than sentience yet
always there’s a surplus;

effervescence of neurological excess,
&
the contingent biological flesh
            deceived
by the thoughts that haunt us
&
always finding ways to evade our gaze.

We call this thing our Self.

We can never own it, never know it,
by demanding
                    or calmly asking

but we can find it,
                    sometimes,
in other eyes.