"Every bit of every piece of every split second" a poem

Every bit of every piece of every split second

I am born again anew.

It takes some getting used to

(I'm not yet used to it)

my chrysalis becoming and becoming...

I ride the air of phenomena like the fragile butterfly that I am,

easily dried out, pinned down by time,

readily crushed to dust and left to ride those very same winds into nothingness,

and I forget that simultaneously as I look and listen and feel about

that I am also again and again reborn anew...

the light in my eyelashes as I look into the midday sun,

for the first time, beyond time,

because the next time, as a flurry of snowflakes dropped from a nearby tree branch tickles my cheeks,

I look into the light, and the world, quite differently,

bleeds bright gold white.

I am not what I seem to be,

a man with direction...no...

I am illusion, a wisp of a thing that's not a thing,

I grasp my recollections of self only to claim anew a different story,

a different face,

a different mind about everything and nothing at all....

I've nothing to say

with nothing on the tip of my tongue.

Awash in an ocean of endless difficulty,

astray in a world of concepts that simply don't apply,

in flight in an expanse that offers a vista that is nothing at all ,

and I rest in this no place like a big  reflective butterfly hovering effortlessly,

displaying a world in my wings....

each flutter an illusion,

a mark of some new beginning.

Noticing this...

It's happening.

Anew, anew, anew…

“Hello, hello, hello?

Are you there?”

“no”

“Am I here?

…no place.”

“Where are you going?”

“No place to go.”

“Here already...”

These are whispers of understanding

that disappear like tiny flumes of leaf smoke on a windy day,

or like dried butterfly wings

on a crisp, bright winter's day...