Spaces

Spaces

i believe the spaces between you and i
are gifts, and if time
and its shadows persist
in your arms, then ours is a saved
existence — our hands borrowed form in the
struggle of every absence, in the exchange
of words devoid of meaning: we only say them
for they drown the sound of crashing waves,
of raging storms, of raging quakes,
and all the calamities that defined
our less-than-empty greying.

sometimes, i ask myself
if i have ever brought you a sunset
that is as bright as it is not-falling-apart,
a night sky as enchanting
as it is untempered with nimbus, but you see,
i believe the spaces between you and me are like
un-fallen leaves from trees we grew together,
un-given embraces, un-fresh petals from un-plucked flowers,
the un-fruition of plans. and there may be joy in that air,
if only we could find it.

i believe the spaces between you and i
are certainties — realities that keep
our feet on the ground, no matter how far
our thoughts in the clouds.

and do forgive me,
if i fear them so much,
it is rare that someone convinces
this lowly mind to think in heights
as such.

— A. P.

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