The Greeks proclaimed it wine-red:
I do feel sometimes that I sit besides an expanse of blood.

The world seems malleable and undiscovered;
the vastness of the sea is enough to unsettle me.
My limbs soak themselves tentatively.

It is so simple, it seems laughable;
confronted with nature’s artistry,
I ponder my own miniscule meaning,
my place in things.

The woman stares dumbfounded in the mirror
(at her breasts, at her forehead, at her hips, at her darkened hair)
and so I examine the composition of myself,
water lapping my toes.

I am faced with a physical reminder
of all I do not know.

They told me: you are more than your mind,
and I know this is true because I can touch.
But ultimately touching and dancing and holding
are neurons firing back and forth.

How barbaric the bloody machinery I call my body seems.
Faced with uncertainty, I shrivel.

It’s been a fear since I was young.
I am missing out on something, I know that I am.

And what am I but some observer? I do feel sometimes that I must face an expanse of blood.