opening swoop

I am alone contiguous
joined to my birth

but, joined to my eventuality?
to a coming moment?
which one next?

all in a prickly row
we become the we
the us, the me
never blurring
always glaring
just out of view
the space these two eyes
tend to avoid
like finality
as my fingers group
to two platoons
for retreat, for the baths

always feeling at Home
in rail station with deep shadows
in lost corners wondering why
always end up
in this walled space with curtainless windows
that surround us,
no, me