I am the fleeting sound
of birds
I am stolen by the sky
I am the dust that gathers on
tables and on bodies
I am lies told to pillows and I am curled in
a ball
I am the pictures that play on the insides of eyelids
I
am the sun, who is breaking through clouds with rays of purple
spears
I am a whisper, pounding on the walls, trying to get out
I
am an islands and
I am the boys who wears vines
I am the
grinding of rocks into nothing
I am nothing; I have
become part of something bigger