Identity is local.
I am not from Boston
I am from a haunted backyard on Sterling Drive where Mr. Kisper blew his brains out, and where my brother intended to suffer a similar fate:
Grass and fence all more haunted now
And never mine.
Starting from this place of gruesome gravity,
What is mine? What is I?
It is all contextual, shades, graded things.
It is more than three dimensions
It is in the things we secretly seek,
Or long to—
theme and variations 