Identity has
No attachment
Where from
It was once held down
                                                     As a constant
To cover the years

Identity is suggestive

Fluid
In the moment of our own perception
Adaptable
In the moment of being perceived

Take an ice cube
Place it between your palms
                                                   As to incubate
Identity dissolves to
Slip through your fingers

Boxes became my constant companions,
each house a temporary heartbeat.
I built homes with one hand holding a child,
the other gripping resilience.