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.
