Self Portrait

Because I am here, because I am always ready
To begin again, picking up a thread
And following it through the labyrinth that never untangles itself,
Over and over I invoke -- once more calling out
Not to my reflective brothers and sisters but -- myself,
So I might hear -- but another self
Separated by the thin distance of a page,
The transparency of mirrors -- and perhaps he perceives me.

I am that one who was constantly seeking a method,
Even while he did other things, to do other things --
Who was not himself, but a thought searching for himself, or itself,
Traveling in no direction on an empty road,
Blind, forgetting and forgotten. I am that one
Who hoped to extend himself to embrace everything,
And yet none embraced, who retreated back
Into what he could not keep. But I am no enigma:
Only my enigma is enigma -- the enigma of enigmas
That cannot be resolved, cannot be dissolved,
Or even thought.

***

Because I am here, because I am always ready
To begin again, picking up a thread
And following it through the labyrinth that never untangles itself,
Again and again, once more I invoke, always calling out
Not to my reflective brothers and sisters, but myself,
So I might hear -- but another self,
Separated by the distance of the page, or the thin veil
Of a mirror -- and perhaps he perceives me.

I am that one who was constantly seeking a method,
Even while he did other things, who was not himself,
But a thought searching for himself, or itself,
Traveling in no direction on an empty road,
Blind, forgetting and forgotten. I am that one
Who hoped to extend himself to embrace everything,
And yet none embraced, who retreated back
Into what he could not keep. But I am no enigma:
Only my enigma is enigma -- the enigma of enigmas
That cannot be resolved or even thought.