The gift

The wondering me transparent to the observing analytical eye, fly into the imaginary scenery of images learnt from the moment the umbilical cord was cut. I plunge into the blueness of my wound searching for the essence of the first word spoken. The encounter is just a second of a second that vaguely leaves me with the hunger of holding it once more. It is my gift from me to the I that knows it, but has to battle the many battles to be the I that is with it all. Ethel