Echoes in the afterself
A. Melo
Who
am I
now—
a flicker
or a flame?
Who was I
before
the mirrors broke
and names
forgot themselves?
These scatterings,
those selves in passage—
did they bear
my shadow
or wear my face?
And what wisdom
lives in knowing
too late—when all that’s left
is the bruise
of becoming?