glimpses of being whole

where is your soul? it is (in) my whole body, like a circle in a poem
or a song
“where you heading, little lamb?” my grandpa used to sing

you’re in this circle; what’s it made of? what do you see?

I can’t see anything but emptiness and silence and it’s not me, it’s me at 12 years old
and I can’t see my face but you can

I’m alone with the circle right in the middle of it; it’s drawn on a wooden floor, maybe walnut
and it gravitates like a planet around the sun, this floor floats in space like I used to float in my dreams above the houses

my face is my soul my whole body and in this circle there’s just a tiny figure that I imagine being me