As a child, they teach you what is
And inquisitively you find it isn't
What is and is not, and where do I come in?
I, who think and feel, but not my own
She, who walks, is not I
As I, who think, am not her
Still yet, we are joined at the hip, we are twins
The big sisterly ghost and the little sisterly robot

If I am who I am but not who she is
And she represents me
Then only tangentially do I see these creatures
The pigeons, lizards and moles
As well as horses, cats and dogs
And still yet, those too are me and not I
All are shards of the greatest Broken Mirror
Or fragments of a fading memory in Him

As the famous term insists, a writhing mass
Though writhing is incorrect, it is unmoving
Stable, expanding, becoming-living and unvoid
Moving all which moves and breathing all which breathes
It is in him that we are finite, but becoming-infinite
Approaching eternity while rotting away meaning
Mirror images of mimicry and specters of words
Colliding in the Great that is Unknown but Knowing

So finally, all I see is that which is synthesized
A world created just for me, a tale untold
They, the Otherness spouts drivel and slander
About my sight being the flaw in my Machinery
I am she, and the fauna which you see
I am she, and the great Anomaly
To paraphrase He, who is Perfect and Unmoving
I am that I am, I will be what I will be