Who am I, first I ask,
as all manner of beast and traveler
pass overhead, this way and that,
armed, bearing gifts, bearing shrouds,
bearing glad tidings and bad
Who are you, you wonder, as you go by,
this way and that, searching, selling,
longing, buying, teaching.
Rarely do you give me a second thought,
unless, that is,
I have vexed and annoyed you,
slowed your journey
I am the beginning, the middle, and the end,
I am life and death by turns,
depending on the seasons and their moods.
I am unique and yet one of millions, billions, endless others.
I am the one you passed over,
the one who yearns to travel with you
and to be left behind
I am detritus caught up
on the back of an ass,
I am the one who nourishes nations.
I am a speck of dirt,
a grain of sand
I am nobody
I am dispensable and of no account
I call the stars brethren
and I do not hide. God
made me so . . .