Mere Semblance

Something within me, friend,
is not my own.

The angle of the ridge
is hard as steel

and cuts the sky in two.
I was once like

that ridge and before then,
pre-severed sky:

shapeless in form, filled out
with white purple.

And then I was graceful
and it was good

to see you. And as if
I had never

been, there’s now another
who dwells within

and whom one sees like glass,
there and not there,

a semblance of space
dividing things up.
...