I am discarded sunlight, in favour of rain
I am stuck to the bottom of your shoe
I am winter leaves, crushed to dust underfoot
I am the forest without the trees
I am water, slapping the side of the boats in the harbour
I am oceans of un-shed tears
I am the shape of the shoreline
I am occams razor
I am the sweat of a thousand dancing bodies
I am the sweet, the salty, the sacred and the profane
I am the curator of an invisible collection
I am what lives between the letters and the page
I am what lies after the end of everything
I am the student, in a roomful of teachers, finally learning how to say “I don’t know”
I am what courage looks like when no-one else is watching
I am waiting in the margins of your awareness
I am a list of forgotten words
I am longing
I am the arrival
I am the mantra, repeated over and over
I am the smell of sage-smudge clinging to your hair
I am mala beads, polished to a shine by restless fingers
I am kneeling at the altar, broken open
I am the infinite sadness
I am the poet and the poem