In the wash of surrounding beauty I am but a frivolous stroke of the brush in the absent minded flick of the hand that holds it

or am I?

For in the wake of who you were is the truth of who I am

Left holding a heavy weight, while I am strong I can’t lift it alone

I couldn’t be who I am without you and all who came long before who I am and who they were

Who am I and who I am are different in that all that I am is not always the answer to the question who am I?

So who am I?

That’s not a question You or I could answer with conviction…

So why am I asking it?