Self Portrait

It was never me, it was you;
My body bears your imprint and your trace
As I have bourn the shadow of your weight;
Beneath that frame, a phantom of your image
Hides a dance in firelight; no true
Details, but shadows only, leaping, chase
My dreams, grown cold and pale among the great
And raging flames: declined, diminished, dim.

I am the way I am
the way (you are).
It is not want, but what I cannot claim
That feeds the famine buried in my soul.
No lack of light, but blindness to the day
That seeks the sight’s surrender to a far
Less sunlit plane. We waltz among the lame
And whisper to the deaf, “be well and whole;”
Though we are lost, we find no words to say.

Anita Hunt
03/10/07