More Space Than Matter

More Space Than Matter

More Space Than Matter

More space than matter,

I wonder why I haven’t

Drifted apart from myself

Though to be true,

I have more than once,

Gluing the atoms together

And forming what I thought

I should be or what

Everyone else thought I was.

Looking in the mirror

And not recognizing me,

I open dusty albums

With black and white

Polaroids that don’t look

Like me either.

Is this how it feels

To lose oneself?

To wander the familiar

Corridors, weaving

Endlessly into each room,

Looking for my old self, my

New self, or just me

And finding no one?

This must be

What it feels like to be undead —

To drift aimlessly like

All the other lost souls,

And yet I don’t see anyone

I recognize. I see only

Empty rooms, empty hallways,

And empty space.

I don’t even see me

In the mirror anymore.

I see a glass or silver

Etching of a face

That seems strangely

Familiar and familiarly

Strange,

With thinner lips, more lines,

And yet a hint of youth,

A lost fragrance

That I can still smell

Through the glass

That is fogged with age,

An act of kindness, after all.