Clear

That was the well of the mind,
Where the river winds to dry fathoms of air

And sun-crawl insects hide.

That was where there use to be a place to 

   die.

And I, in that Dreamtime knew not, dare not

To walk the stretch beside the river 

Once I called mine.

I used to think I belonged to me.

Now I see I'm any other, almost not me at all.

I'm the universal. I'm everyone whose 

Gone before; the unego.

Perfectly alone and single.

I am beside the river, still. Though somehow 

   more clear.