I am envious of the way Michelangelo removed everything extra
to create the perfect David.
I am envious of an animal's lack of self-resignation.
Envious of how a leaf composes itself in the same manner through a storm or clear day.
And how water willingly flows to the lowest point.
This "I" that speaks these words is what should be discarded
like heavy clothes on a hot day.
Until then, I can't speak of any other "I."
For as long as I talk in riddles
I will remain one.
For as long as I speak of the meanings of meaning
then I will know none.