No One I

An I is a special kind
Of we. A me is a kind
Of us, a belted plural
Cinched tight at the waist
To hold its singular guts.
(An it is a kind
Of all kinds of things.)

There’s no singularity
That’s more than mere convention
Except the infinite whole
Of everything all at once.
Still, we feel it, we believe
In our core: there’s just one I
In this world, and that I’s me.