I am nothing
When with nothing at all to write
I am nowhere
When with nowhere at all to go
I am no one
When with no one there to remind me
I do hear
The birdsong in the garden
I do see
The leaves settled on the tree
I did taste
That meal which I cooked earlier
Whose smell
Was the best bit by far
With such a collapse to repetition
Do I deserve any more, or any less
With such a fall to clumsiness
Do I really have any hope of finesse
With such a grope for desire
Do I forget times of non-delayed gratification
With such a cumulation of urges
Do I lose the path to sincere compassion
I am, I do
Hearing
Such repetition
I am desirous, I am urging
