<sp>- A - ce

See the sly boy's face...

Between the thicket of two pines...

Look up, see the sunshafts...

Busting through branches, through leaves and tangle...

Of maple fronting elm fronting maple...

Move and the whole damn show changes...

The light hops through new gaps... made for you only...

The boy is gone...

And what charges this display?

The hard and solid forms we know by name? Or the gaps in between?

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See the sky beyond... on high, lines of snaky clouds...

Their bellies painted orange by the sinking sun...

The spaces between those misty, moving formations... they, they are the artists

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The boy runs with a bit of bark...

"It's rough," he says... the devil boy and his comments...

Yes, yes it is... see the grooves and the cuts of it...

The spaces animate the touch of it...

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Water tumbling down our throats...

Filling then fleeing that otherwise empty pipe...

On warm days you feel the cool down to the core...

Now in tighter... beyond the discernment of the eye....

The space of our body cavity... of our gaps atom by atom...

What's our animator? Our place in it all?

Our space -- within and beside you.

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What every composer knows - note by rest by note...

What the philosophers use as a rule to learn by...

What charges mother and newborn between the gaze...

The pause before uttering the truth...

The charged air between bodies attracting...

The knowing without the mind thinking... 

The settled grass after the breeze dies...

We are not taking space as much as

We are space...

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We are ruled by a vastness unnoticed...

See it... see space... offer up to it...

Lose it and regain it... ride on it...

Space creates the living... and, yes, suddenly death has purpose...

The exhale to the birth breath...