Unfinished and unmade and undone
Unstarted and unbegan and motionless
To be nothing but yet agoraphobic and phobic of all that is
beyond that door
Her most especially
Where definitely
With whom
I don’t know
But I wonder every second of every day
What is what is
I could not begin to answer
Because I am so much already I do not know if there would be
any room left for me
I belong
I know not where
Where my people are
I could not say
A black hole of people float through me but not one sticks
Like snow in Oregon
Like me in Oregon
I know what it is like to be unmade
A ghost of materials put no place but every place and words
that go through walls and ears
Unheard and invisible
Odorless and camouflaged
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