Relative

Much of who I am 

is tethered 

to 

meaning

the feeling of meaning

the idea 

of 

the feeling of meaning

and that 

to 

the idea of what I assume

to be real.

This is how I form

the compartment

where I fabricate 

my identity

and explicit truths.

They can be a candle lit room

the tide

a magician's hat

the steam from a tea cup

my lover's clasp and breath

the bird's flicker of wing

rain on anything

the willow through the window

silver placed on the table

where I am the guest and the intruder.