Containment

I shed my coat and wondered
how my old friends would react
to the tentacle gliding
across the table edge, fidgeting and feeling out
textures. I have been letting it
explore me and my old haunts—
curiosity killed the cat
but I am not a cat
today. I am a human

and a curious
young tentacle
emerging from my side.
The strangeness about magick
is this new awareness

of the layers of containment defining this form
and what is being contained
and the mutability
and the breaches in the membrane—

I know now
I could have been anyone
today, frog or prince, noble or tumbling fool,
monk or hedonist,
comforter, gadfly, gray old friend,
new man, new smile.

I can hear in each moment
the din of possibilities coexisting inside
bursting to become more
mutually exclusive
realities.
I am tired—aside from the tentacle

my present skill is spent
noticing all of this
and choosing to change
slowly, choosing with effort to remain mostly
something known.