I have been told that I am not the sea,
that I cannot be field or light or air—
these things are separate from you and me.
We human things are what we think we are,
we cannot be the inert things that make
us what we are. Yet still a lifeless breeze
becomes a breath of air. I still slake
my thirst with rain that rises from the seas.
Light from long before our earth was born
still strikes my eyes, dissolving into me.
Vast fields and excitations that birth
all we see and hear and feel still form me.
Tell me again how I am not the sea
and how the air I breathe cannot be me.