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| I keep searching for I |
|  which is ridiculous   |
|  for already being I   |
|                        |
|      and yet doth      |
|   that little wiggle   |
|      of yearning       |
|  also known as doubt   |
|    wriggle its way     |
|       between I        |
|         and I          |
|                        |
|    nothing has ever    |
|     been so simple     |
|  as not complicating   |
|     the seeming it     |
|       that is no       |
|         thing          |
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