Sometimes I am a stranger to myself,
In my home, in my place, in:
This body, it seems so familiar, how do I know you?
The sun, does it always feel like this, hot like solstice?
The wind, do I recognize that sound in the tree tops
It seems too loud as it curves from branch to ground.
And my friends, who once seemed so well defined now
Bear the off look, slightly foreign and out of focus,
As they have carried on so famously while I have
Over slept, missed the bus, or forgot the key.
Is it them or is it me?
Like Watson, the computer
Who won on Jeopardy, but didn’t get
Who was grandly intelligent yet lacked the nuance
Of what it means to be human ?
These things that might be learned but not easily granted
And need random renewal, without any certain date stamped upon
The card, the expired password, the plaintive expression
Which seems to crumble into desert dust.
Random renewal, but constant.