On Worlds

Search through a few thoughts.
There are parts of you
That aren’t part of you.
There are worlds in there,
In you, that aren’t yours.

You sweep them in heaps
And step past the heaps,
But they won’t be kept
Neat in dreams and tales.
They’re dust. Dust blows in,

Swirls, gets in the way,
Coats your thoughts in grime.
You’ve learned to count it
And to count on it.
Math makes it your pearls,

And tales make pearls you.
Aren’t you swell? Dust blows
Back in. Your poor thoughts.
They brush their sleeves, shake
The mud from their boots,

But the dirt stays real.
Specks in you, not you.
They’re each grain of sand
Blake knew was a world,
But not one Blake’s world.