SENSORY OVERRIDE

mosaic

one day, I, the girl on the cusp of the half-thawed winter pond

said to I, the boy patching up of the veil of a forgotten eclipse,

who bore a locket swinging with the weight of I, the tree branch

made burdened with the patience of yet one more unripe fruit, 

from which I, the puddle-turned microcosmic ocean of a leaf's 

discarded rainfall, took its inspiration. I is how I eat up the world

with silent gazes and unfounded presumptions; it becomes I and

never yours in the same way.