Cogito Ergo Sum

I lost my license. I won't be on the road.
It's somewhere on the road, maybe:
Someone found it and picked it up,
Someone took my picture, got
My numbers: now I am an option
For others who can be, or at least claim to be,
All that I can be. Identity is strange:
Everything is identical to itself, nothing
Is identical to everything, but what am I
If not so many things I take myself to be?
Or maybe they take me.

Supposing somebody takes me for what I am?
Supposing I can be passed along from hand
To dirty hand? And who will I call to say,
'I am I?' Or what will I have to do,
What paperwork will I have to get through,
That will keep me from all that I have to do?

In the end I can only conclude I am not
Identical to myself: no, perhaps I am only a thought
-- I am only somebody else's thought.