Pieces of My Me

I look around

me and all I see

are pieces of

my me.

Those things

I have seen fit

to consume and

bring inside

for building

my sense of

self my sense

of Self.

Books of

prayer, volumes

of mystic poems,

rows of Kabbalah,

Philokalia,

Foxire notes

from these

Appalachian hills

and histories

line the shelves of

this inner me.

Endless groupings

of words and images

that take my me

to new places

yet to be.

Places

yet un-described

by my 

reticulated

will that 

captures and

unleashes meaning

as I breathe.  

We take in 

more than we can ever

know we are becoming.

We are large.

The pieces of

my me are

less than 

all I have 

to become.

All I am
yet to be.