I am not spirit, ghost, or ghoul,
not phantom, disembodied mind,
or temporally imprisoned soul.
I am the much-maligned thing.

As much a thing as is a grain
of sand, a stone, an artificial
intelligence, a human brain.
I am profoundly material.

I am no more ethereal
than is a star, no more than breath 
or wind, no less corporeal
than memory, or fear, or death.

As concrete as a billiard ball,
as solid as a particle
or pilot wave, as tangible
as dominoes or article

of faith. As definite as place,
as palpable as process, as precise
as absolute time, like space
unbending, like dice unswerving.

As real as quantum gravity
or an apple falling from a tree,
as discerning as the beholder’s eye,
as potent as grace or why.

I am embodied being,
as manifest as becoming,
as real as any seeming thing
the all imagines I could be.