Embodied Ghosts Are Never Enough for Selves

You’re a system of atoms
Trapped by light, connections made
To order, finely controlled,
A treelike geometry.

You’re a charm, a tongue twister,
A cure for hiccups, pickled
Peppers Peter Piper picked,
Ichthyosaur by the shore.

You’re tlamatine, one who knows
That knowledge isn’t a shield
That keeps you from being destroyed.
You meditate on the world.

You’re the image and the act,
Morning stars that blink slow eyes.
You’re every bone and loose joints
Pale as twilight before night.

You’re peril and prediction,
The figures drawn in the dust.
You’re every last thing we say
You are, but you’re never us.