I Am Three

I go back farther
than stories my father’s
uncle told around the fire

short-sighted, a brass of sorrow
rubbed until it shone
like something resembling glory

I am more than a tenor’s voice,
lace curtains, and too much drink

my ferocity lies in wait;
rooted in sticky mud
like the tribes before me,
I have moved tenacious and
sure-footed, guided by a path
remembered and relevant

again and again I see eyes
I recognize, like wells of ancients -
it draws and frightens me

I gather my stones
twenty years later,
still trusting light

I am three, seeking union