All My Relatives

The painting
on the wall
of the house
we create
for ourselves
in the mind
of our inner being
has the best view
of just who we are.

To the world
we turn
our backside,
our outside,
that part
that tatters
with matters
of heart
and triumphant
over spilling
oceans
of objects and memes.

But, for ourselves,
in our inwardness,
in the subjectivity
of our most sacred
host of all profundities,
here we hide
in plain sight,
the well
of our whispers,
and we drink in
the sky
of our being.