Image by Nester Formentera

When I say “I,” It means electric pave-
-ment: Roads Its thoughts have travelled down, and carved
Its grooves into a fleshy hilled terrain
Of brains, a process evolution chose.

It means a highway It commutes to My—
A home that’s situated on the Nile
Where life affirming silts are stashed within—
Until timed waters wash away Its stores

It means the fishing lines that It lays out—
So not to lose Its way when walking blind
Through dark uncharted forests far from home—
That mornings’ beams unwind and moonlight reels

It means compulsions storytellers have
To weave a carpet from the waiting threads
Of last year’s wool, to spin a tale that pulls
From underneath a room their magic rug.

It means a beaver’s urge to slow a stream
To speeds conducive to Its needs: Construct-
-ing deconstructed reeds It finds, collects,
Reshapes unchosen worlds as It would please.

It means a process playing out through time
A program filters through phenomena
From eyes and ears for what will fit into
Its line: Make sense? If not, just cast aside.

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