I study the sky
As a picture framed by cheap shutter blinds
Of a museum where I could be
alone
luxuriantly alone
If I were a fragment of personality
of the cosmic soul
False are the constructs of being whole
Like splitting a rope
in two
And tying a knot to make
us
Us?
I could play some music
clear and hollow
To quiver the synapse between me and you
Then maybe you could feel what I feel
what is behind it all and
real
But neither you nor me
can truly sense the other
I pretend I am the curator
of my world
You
of your world
Perhaps then the picture sky
Is only mine
to reveal