I know that what I am
was burnished once by fantasy
that the child I was had seized
and held as self bright paradise.
I know that what I am
is somewhere now between the earth
and all strange gaps of thought,
where the unknown air takes shape
as man, or tree, or musical idea.
I think that what I could have been
is perfectly contained
within the secret, terraqueous return to selfish summer,
where all the gods were green or golden
and growing in the sun.
© 2010 Charlotte Merrill Jensen
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