Muscular words fall through my hands,
Like the grains of sand of shifting time.
These words are mine, but they change,
And flow and disappear.

In ink and stone I chisel down:
Today, THIS is who I am.
But ancient scars they whisper still,
Yesterday was not the same.

Some things lost, reclaimed by nature,
Others found like buried treasure.
My mind will race to fit together,
The patchwork of my life.

Confusion blinds, I have no words,
Superstitious will not set me free.
But where I find the things I need:
In silence I am me.