there is a door I open
ending mornings walk to work
beyond that door, a second
and in both, I see my self
So then two of me I see,
my doubled strolls reflection
mornings I ask the question
“I wonder which is me?”
bright one startling morning
the angle of my walking
the pitch of the morning sun
made me, with no blurring, one
My life has been a searching for
that angle and that pitch…
till one of me is two no more,
no more guessing which is which
Poems by Ken 