A Dialogue of Self and Soul

Soul to Self

When you find

where you want

to be found, and

believe I'd find

you happy

there myself

and myself

happy there, too,

let me know.

Otherwise, I'll

keep wandering

around within you.

Self to Soul

What am I if

not these thoughts?

The thoughts reply

I am nothing.

And yet they remain

in love with the thought

of nothing themselves.

Shy, mysterious, dark nothing,

changeling among the myriad

of thoughts that know,

collectively, how I

is merely a patchwork

cobbled together, tattered

dressing, sorely lacking,

supremely desirous

fiction of fundamentally

shambling mess, a story

that wears too many beginnings

and endings added,

the tatty borrowed

accessories of memories.

Ah, but there, thoughts

see, maybe, on this happy

desert afternoon

among their weddings

of fragmented selfhood,

their tootings at my Sunday

bath, little Nothing,

the secret of it all,

which is of course you,

Nothing at all,

the romantic thought

of no thought.

Now what am I

to do with you

who aren't at all?