Behind the breaths and lidded eyes
Beyond the thoughts of minutia
Past the magnificent goals
Where the hot eye in your forehead
Cannot see
Hanging on the horizon
Like small paper kites in the breeze
Distant but connected by strings
To the heart that now flutters
An involuntary clock ticking off time
That swells into suns
When the thinker stops thinking
And sees who is there beyond
The observer observing
Who am I?
The answer always comes back
No one
Who is asking?