There are the many—and they are here:

and for each stone he counts among them

he excludes himself,

as if he, too, might begin to breathe

for the first time

in the space that separates him

from himself.

For the wall is a word. And there is no word

he does not count

as a stone in the wall.

Therefore, he begins again,

and at each moment he begins to breathe

he feels there has never been another

time—as if for the time that he lived

he might find himself

in each thing he is not.

What he breathes, therefore,

is time, and he knows now

that if he lives

it is only in what lives

and will continue to live

without him.