You ought not to ask people,
Who are you?
Often times they have no clue
They tell you what they know;
What they think;
What is, more or less wrong
But if you look closely, steadily
You will see
Between the arbitrary track of hair on their skin,
Exactly who they are
Constellations and entire universes of
Exactly who they are
Hiding in plain sight
Brushing against the outside air, restless,
Open to the world
And to them too.

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