You are reminded every time you see it,
it’s there, not here,
that it’s not you, you are you,
the strange split second present perception
of recognizing it and it not recognizing you.
Your self passing your self,
in the opposite direction.
The thought gives one pause.
You stop, contemplate,
when you say goodbye to your self
and it does not recognize you
the way you recognize it,
does not acknowledge you,
knows you not, even though
you throw a stick at it,
try to make its shriveled head see,
beady-eyed see that it was you,
how it made you stop momentarily
in your squeezing back into that black hole
so like shed skin, sloughed off,
not capable of understanding it was you,
the mist lifts, a thirst quenched,
and on your belly you churn on,
know in your cold heart you are better than it,
a king alone soon to be crowned perhaps,
regal in your gift of knowing.