Many Facets Poem by Mike Adam

Who is it that dances through the dawn
That plays the tambourine
That drinks and loves and
Lies abandoned?

It is this I that has no truth
No sense of self, this role
Played in a suit, a tie,
Hard hat or shorts.

Who is it that lives in summer climes
And winter chill?

It is I, it is not I
No self there is nor ever there
There was

Not I, the I that rarely is,
A diamond rough, cut
Of stuff ineffable.

Who is it that sees me now?
Why you, mirror of this sigh
And you are you, who you?