Are we there yet?

dark things swim below the surface
dark fish under dark water
silverscale shining now and then
an idea
a memory
but they too stir up the murk
turn the water turbid
make what was clear
something else
something less
something more

leaving me with more questions
than answers
more ruin
than creation

what am I
if I cannot learn or define myself
what am I
if all I am is echoes of what came before
what am I if the sound of cats claws on hardwood floors
can bring the warmth of sleeping sunshine
of long ago misinterpreted naps
and the sudden worry
that there are no longer as many cherries in the bowl
as there are pits