Me

In this quick and fleeting life,

I am a hapless mite

Clinging fast to the empty spine

of a feather

that falls in dips and curves from the

Mountaintop, where a Himalayan vulture

Devours a grandmother’s flesh.

Below, a golden carp gazes upwards

From the cold crystal river,

Its blue bubble eyes fixed

Upon the indigo sky,

Awaiting the plunge of a dizzy mayfly--

My unlucky sister.

Trapped in a frenzied cycle

Of shape-shifting lifetimes,

I spin unaware, ever-clinging

To each new form,

Arising from and falling into emptiness.

An eagle, a spider, a man,

A moth, a loon, a clam,

A jealous god, a hungry ghost, a dog.

And finally, a girl who calls herself “me.”