I Am

Pulling colored scarves from my mouth
like a magician. From the depth of
my diaphragm, they come. Only,
it’s not magic.

It’s a loss of words. A
once was. Speechless.

Drawing in the sand with
my finger. Lingering in its quick
ability to lose form. Sand falling
in on itself.

I am alone in a state of grace.

Quiet fills my ears.

I don’t know what
I don’t know.

Booked between
two hard covers.
I am written.