Once

Once

(maybe yesterday)

it seemed to me

identity

(say mine, or yours)

existed, like a room;

one could not touch the walls

of his enclosure,

and yet the walls were fixed security.

Again

(perhaps today)

identity

appeared to be

(for me, or you)

containment: “north so far,”

though north meanwhile

reached on eternally.

I saw myself cut short eternity.