Any other

The things I am
things I have done
are not ever mine
and not ever were.

How can I be
when any piece
in any place
other than the space
they ended up
would have ended
somewhere else?

This self
only for ease
I name
only exists
right here,
and any turn
at any point
another self
would be.

When every
goodness brings
hazy comfort,
every badness
stretch to
breaking but
does not.

When this I
stopped pushing
and right left it be
that I stopped
pushing back.

Now it all glides
each turning twist
to wish
for nothing
that is
not is.

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