A Cycle of Unlearning

I celebrate life
with a sadness
that has not learned
language.
I stepped away
to unlearn
my name.
I took a vacation
from the mirror,
from the voice
insisting
it was me.
I'm gone for a while.
Please don't look for me.
The one you knew
loosened his shape
and drifted -
not dead, not lost,
only returned
to the quiet
before words.
Something unnamed
breathes here now,
waiting
for silence
to finish the sentence.
Nothing answers.
And still -
something is aware.
Attention remains
without an owner,
like a lamp
lit inside emptiness,
not to reveal a face,
but to prove
that seeing
can happen
without a seer.
I am no longer the one who arrives.
I am what arrives
and is not expected.
Breath moves
through what cannot be named.
There is no returner.
Only returning.
Even "I" becomes unnecessary,
like a door
that no longer distinguishes
inside from outside.
What remains:
presence without position,
life without ownership,
silence that no longer needs
to be called silence.
Only a quiet radiance,
simply being
what was never absent.