Reaching thirty
one morning startled to find I am not this person
nor am I any of the persons
who woke in shock each day before
to find they were not this person either
I suspect I am not
the person I am now either
when the sun comes up I will be thirty
and upon me so many days have passed
in each of these forever unreachable days
the I who is not I
was always someone else
among all these people
I have never truly met a single one
sometimes in another's eyes I catch a glimpse of one of them
and in that moment they assume with doubt yet stubbornly
the guise of the person
about to be understood