This, Very Here

They never see
The real me
They see what I wear
Imagine what lies beneath
Hear what I tell them —
What I used to be, what I sensed
What I think, sometimes

But really
They don’t see me
How can they
When even I
Don’t see myself

What can I even tell them about me
So they might see me
Know me, as I know myself

But how do I know myself
When I can’t see
Hear or touch me
When I can’t find —
Me

Why must I then
Want them to see me
Complain they don’t —
If I, myself, don’t
Can’t
See me

Bodies —
That must be
What they see
Must be —
What I am

Body alone they can see
Hear or touch —
That alone they are
That alone am I

Bodies articulating needs
Wants, demands —
To be heard
Touched
Embraced

Who then
Speaks of spirit —
When body is all
That is
Me

And no one —
Ever
Has made a sound
Without this —
Me

And if you must say
That spirit be
Eternal, holy, untouched
Unseen, unspeaking
Unworded —

Then whatever
That must be
Must be
This —
Very, here —
Me