The Infinite Nature of the Untitled Poem

I was a bike rider and then

a lover of women and then

an observer of women.
I was reflected within the drop of my time

standing alongside the transported.

We gathered as early folksongs eased their way

across the square of a marketplace

where tables of fresh-baked breads were set.

We ripped bread from their loaves,

sampled various cheeses
and tasted the dry, local reds
poured from the necks of perennial black-
glass bottles.
I took on the shape of hydrogen.

I asked: "Am I dead"?

The physical properties were senseless.

I took on a particle's shape

passing through barriers like a slick neutrino,

or the sage, Mr. Natural.

I became the smallest of living creatures.

The comic protozoa bumped into me
with what might have been their heads

then veered toward other destinations, going about

the aquatics of their infinite routines,–– and then

through what might have been the passage of time
I settled into the vast sea of introductions, waiting

for whatever might drift my way.