I am my dog
laying at the top step of the staircase,
snout curled around and nestled into his hind legs.
I shuffle and he blinks at me while I whisper,
"I am You."

I am the photograph of myself on the wall:
Tousled, wiry black hair like snakes
sprouts atop a pale-white face
withholding bitter secrets and the poison
of anger behind envy-green eyes.

I am a bouncy little girl and a rigid old woman.
I feel my tongue beginning to dry with age
like a once-crisp and juicy grape.

And yet I am also energized to my toes
and throughout the entire state of Ohio.
I am bursting at the seams and barely keeping hold
of what my itching hands can if they don't
ruin the dainty thing of Life before reaching
for another even more precious thing, like Love.

And I am Love, too.
I love and am loved and am to be loved furthermore,
like a dog or a photo or a girl whose tongue is sore.
It is Love that I am
and Love that I will onto you.