It's the first day of a new month
And well past my middle of life
I am not quite clear on who I am
It remains something I can’t see
(Unless I can look away from it)
Is it what the blind spot knows?
We live more in the world
Of intuition than of reflection
Intuition is warmed with life
And it is three-dimensional.
Reflections are dead-cold
And are two dimensional
Although, I can feel who I am
I never get to see who I am
And intuition works in the dark
While reflections hide in silence
