Am I the poet dreaming
she is a butterfly?
Or the butterfly dreaming
she is a poet?

Am I a pebble iying
lying on a spit of
sand & shingle?

Or a dandelion seed
taking root on Peckham Rye?

Am I the orphaned child,
drowsing under a thorn tree?

Or a snowflake
melting on the sleeve of a
black overcoat?

(If death hath ten- thousand several doors
which one shall I exit by?)

Am I a charred hand
lying on the road from Basr?
A moth
trapped behind a pane of glass?

Am I longest whisker
on a brown rat?

A man on his 83rd birthday
lost in the crowd of a
Moscow Metro station?

Am I rain
falling on an abandoned orchard?
The imprint of a football cleat?
The crease in a child's elbow?
A sun-warmed pomegranate?

A young woman
crying out in anguish?

A candle burning on a table?

Am I a sleeper?
A dreamer?
A speck of dust?

(If death has 10,000 doors
truly, does it matter
wich one we shall exit by?)


(Since pain is pain --
  Since you & I are we --
then mine & another's pain --
  how are they different?)

(What grounds have you
for all your strong distinctions?)

Am I not you,
reading this poem,
turning the pages,
taking a sip of tea
& reaching out your hand

to a marmalade cat?

&are you not me,
sitting at the kitchen table, 
taking a sip of tea,
glancing out at the birch trees
newly in leaf?

Together
were we not lifted for a moment
by the sight of the new moon's
pale sickle?

do we not laugh
Do we not weep
together?

(The human race is a single being
Created from one jewel
If one member is struck
All must feel the blow
Only someone who cares for the pain of others
Can truly be called human.)

So what is the self
that decrees I do not feel
your sorrow
your loneliness
your fear?

(If a pain
To free myself
Means freeing all.)

Be happy
readed, sleeper,
dreamer, butterfly.
Be safe from harm.
Be free.



Who Am I? Is an amalgamation
of my own words and those
written by others.
I thank my collaborators:
chuang Tzu, John webster,
Boris Pasternak, Shantideva,
David Edwards & Saadi.

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