My Daemon

Who are you, self?
underneath, beyond, within,
who speaks to me silently,
nothing ever, but always everything,
who gives mind for my thoughts,
and voice to my words,
lost self never found,
created and creative
creator,
you who chide me,
praise me, too, but rarely,
incomprehensible self, comprehending all,
preceding egg, flagellum, man and wife,
preceding world and matter,
god himself, me,
but hidden,
emerge at death, in death,
like Plato and Paul uttered,
single, solitary self, singing like Whitman,
mourning like Poe,
the ironic freedom of identity
in the swirling Atlantic of death.

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