Lost

I have lost the map
to my self. I am lost
in a river.
Lost in a forest.
Lost in mountains
of disregard.
I wander behind
my own eyes.
I listen to
my own speech
as if it were
the call of a bird
thought long extinct.
I study the face
in the mirror, read
the runes of its smile,
its frowning storm.
I realize that
I do not know this language.
There is no stone
which translates
from my eyes
into the coins of breathing,
the small change
that reads my palm
and vanishes
like the gypsy heart,
like the morning's
pale moon.