I think Carlos Fuentes said similar first:
It is neither the best nor the worst,
Just some sudden unquenchable thirst.
So who is knowing (something is or could be)?
I can see: I am this eye; this eye I am.
Sometimes blind, I don't give a glory damn.
I have no nose except a moment, a sorta hell;
I have no memory nor even dream of smell.
I may be following the wrong incense into hell.
Except that is much more than I accept:
I am a lost wriggling worm crossing concrete.
It is no chosen path, nor measurement based on math.
Tomorrow is just a swirl of sky we do not see.
Who cares? I care. It is always you and me.
I will find tomorrow at the fair: watch me.
Let us not look toward, nor tempt the cards.
Let us coast yesterday toward a morrow.
If we do our daily chores and whistle
and wake again and again in joy
we can finish the beginning of Fuentes' epistles.
You and I can find a direction forward.
March 01, 2020
I am this; This I am
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