I Show Myself

I show myself to you
at first in two dimensions;
I am a breathing picture
that looks back, like a
fish from behind glass walls.
And then it falls away:
Fear, worn like
a jacket gone
threadbare, out of style,
outgrown. When I disrobe,
you hear my space echoing
a complete song,
all its notes sounding
at once.

Fear of being seen
means never showing
my essence, the golden
field of my delight.

And withholding myself
means pain:
Unspent coins become
heavy loads on my
light body. This
time, it's time
to let gold fall
like rain.