within this period of time

a change has been made—

height, width, depth all very much the same,

time passing at its own god-given speed,

weight increased,

location very much the same,

but as one dimension passing slowly, faster,

interrupted, inconsistent,

never trapped by the constancy

of unproven astrological reality

moving in all directions

and contrariwise at home—

the dimension of soul:

born a sphere and happened likewise a time the same,

cast with surface of life, inside a flame,

born to become a life, yet without a name,

born to play forever what's not a game,

a dimension not of quantity but of quality,

a judgeless dimension of subjectivity,

eternal change and changelessness trapped in inconsistency,

all the bumps and bruises held together forever,

eternally our true selves, only once to dissever

(with luck) from the shell which others see,

As reverse; in the mirror so do we.

If just once, the second, the minute, and the hour hand

Could be the same, our true selves could be as our true shell

And others could tell

Who we really were.