So at first I asked "who am I?",
And within a second of thinking,
For once - I heard myself speak,
It was as if a being seperate from mine graced me with its presence,
And oh the shock to find this presence was that of my own,
Yet even after a monologue of internal thought,
My new found reasoning could not answer the eternal question,
"Who am I?"

"Look in a mirror" they say,
But can the entirety of your soul be exposed from this reflection?
"You are who you chose to be" they further elaborate,
But what choice do I have when choosing with uncertainty,
Forced to decided among the devices of fate,
Fervently thought they explain "we are all individuals!",
Well then why do we all wish to be another?
Oh well I guess, that's life.

I say I am you
tree
roots and limbs and bark

I say I feed you as you feed me oxygen
we need each
to be

My roots are not covered
and I am not near as tall or robust
my canopy never will attain the beauty

nor hold leaves and seeds
into the sun like you
And then

I ask the tree,
who might you be?
He stands as he always has,

says, I am but a tree,
I bow and say amen.

White walls
White beds
White floors

White sheets
White tiles
White gowns

White faces
White eyes
White lights

She made me dance on broken glass
waiting for the coup de grâce
she ran away and kissed a toad,
whilst I got stuck on a yellow brick road
the lion and the tin man started to cry
the scarecrow supped on a bottle of rye
click my heels and reach for the moon
watch her choke on a silver spoon.

...

Mystery;
Such that you were to me
But nervously I swayed in your direction
Curious;
I couldn't help but catch
my breath as you spoke of this
dismal city and your photography
So caught
in your wishes to escape
back to your summer adventures
to the hustle and bustle of Tokyo and Seoul;
it was then you felt such anonymity
So it was then you had felt free.

I look to you again,
piecing you in these things that you
dare share with me; so easily,
eagerly.
Quiet now, you look to me but
I apologize, I didn't know quite
where to begin.

Mist and fluttering snow
Clouding over our concrete city,
We walked below the looming
Buildings until pausing,
to take a picture of me.
It seemed, in this hour, it was
only us who
chose to walk through these
deserted snowed-in streets
You suggested something then,
offering to take me up to the top
of the sleekest buildings,
to your rooftop sanctuaries I longed
to see
until it was only in my view-
small specks of life below me
where I could only see my sodden shoes
dangle down
to nothingness, to air, weightlessly as I
taste the mist upon my shoulders and
frozen hair.
In awe I would laugh
at the beautiful sight before me- to
Skyscrapers that cut above clouds
in the glint of the sun reflecting back to
our eyes, and
our cheeks who also felt the bite of
winter's winds.
Shivering,
Soaked in hair and feet
and

Again I turned to face you
but here,
with glittering eyes,
... wondered where
You would then choose to
take me
on our second date?

        

                                                ­       *P.K.