[written 2013, an artifact of sam says, sam]
To define the self start naming the non-self. Cartilage, tissue, hair, air. You are not the sky, not tree nor atom, but each refers to you. The tree, seen, is called tree and otherwise would not be called. And you may be argued upon, if not seen compositely. Your detritus contains each of your identities, and you return to the earth over time. Refer to sharpened chin. Refer to wingspan, to camouflage, to pitch, to bicep, to ovary, to confidence of grin. But even the earth is known because you named it. Your eyelashes and fingernails are buried in its crust.
If you are not the parts you shed, you can not not be their gathering.
Love instead each iteration, each evolution, each new avenue. See the composite of the body, the changing color of the eyes, the multiplicity of feeling and history, the unlikeliness of earth, of bones, of growth, of thought, the unrelentingness of time, and the artificial counting of time, of separation, of any wall, the limit of a name, the unlimit of a name, the impossible containment of blood, the fusing of tongues, the emptiness of I, the sorrow of a branch. You are not not the branch’s sorrow.