Identity

I am not a tribe, I am not a color,

I am not a gender or a class.

I am a Person.

And there will never be another I

in all the fallen uncreated stars.

No genus contains me.

No species explains me.

I am all energy and every byte
of information configured in one
instant fragile twist of the kaleidoscope,
the sparkle of a perishing mosaic
in the crystal pandemonium of the Goddess.

Earth did not need another Buddha.

Earth did not need another Jesus.

She needed Me.
My piercing love note

shall not be likened or heard again.

A diamond of dew on Indra’s web

reflecting every entangled jewel as each

reflects the All-woven, I globe

the cosmos in a drop, encircling the sea.

I am a singularity.

I am billions, a hologram of human faces,

yours in mine, as mine in yours.
We are each other’s eyes.

We both embody paradise

enfolding super-clustered intergalactic fire,

incorporating gemstone, flower,
fungal spore, each pilgrim thing
of four legs, fin or fur, of stained-glass wing

or cilia that root our DNA in cedar sap,

tse tse fly larvae, loam demons

of the mycorrhizal network,

basso continuo hum of the microbiome.

Still, inviolably unique, I am who Am,
as you are unique and inviolable too.

I am a Person.

Drawing by my friend Klaus, self portrait as a clown,
done when he was fourteen years old. This poem is from
the new book, 'Strangers & Pilgrims.'