Pinpointing your place in the world

Without knowing the beginnings to your own story

Picking up the narrative, disconnected from roots

The island with no compass, identifies only with the horizon

A stain glass image, multi-colored, transmitting light

Beautiful but borrowed fragments,

assembled to make a whole

Merged masks, to amuse, test, and create armor-


Comfy, but all falsely lay claim to the authentic self

That can only be reclaimed by the naked truth of birth.