I am not sure which was to be part of me,
Or which is now.
Am I the robin or the squirrel?
Who has walked the path between,
and which side of light has seared me?
Is the grey black or white,
Or have I drawn a line of chalk
Down the middle of the water?
What is it to feel when feelings become clouded?
Have I aimed my mark,
where the arrow was to strike?
Have I become the target?
“Ey, I have grown used to it.”
So I would say, but it hurts.