The I

I heard it was once said,
a tree is 10,000 slivers;
beyond separation, we reach out
to share this touch inside the fire.

Self flashes forth, born as
brief as every star we name;
removing our collected titles
is as simple as cutting clothes off
inside the grave.

Who learns to handle such a knife?

I imagine reassembling
ashes, sparks and smoke
to put the tree back on the mountain.

I am such
a dumbshit.



by jerry gordon
9.15.07