The world treads, spinning, on my feet’s worn soles.
The air breathes me, my movements make the rain –
Swimming in it, I make the river’s flows;
My shirt wears me within its grain
And with the glasses perched upon my nose
These people see me clearly. And again
These windows peer through me, faces pressed close,
All curious through the blank, transparent pane.
I happen to the world – or it to me?
The toucher or the touched? What must I be?
But I exist, and I shall be alive,
Be it to act or then be act upon –
The world gives birth to life; I am reborn,
To tread with care the pathways of my life.