a self is a center of narrative gravity
-Richard Rorty

the well I dwell in- –
one center among many,
a force around which I collect
the world, these fragments,
sparkling for a magpie,
into who I call myself.

a friend calls on the phone,
I hear echoes of his day
strangling his speech.
I wonder about my traces:
(remnants or controls?)
the slough of gossip,
or long unfolding stories – –
linguistic DNA to clot my heart?