Space Between

I am not a Child wearing a brightred Superhero cape.

I am not a Bird, disturbed by and dreaming about a party.

I am not the forgotten Mule, raising my voice with bottle in hand, screaming for 25 years gone.

I am not the Girlsolo at the end of the bar with an eye to the door for Kindred.

I am not the shadow-wed Lady who forgets the Truth and breaches the wall.

I am not the Woodenman, hands dancing in the blueroom.

I am not the Darkfriend, imbibing the Moon’s silver honey on the waves.

And I am Not speaking or stretching. And I am Not mending or minding. And I am Not praying or pining. And I am Not weeping or weaving. And I am Not touching or taking.

And what will it yield — to add the sum of all I am Not to the space stretched between the charges where Mass converges to a point of Light?

The Allofnothing plus the Nothing —

What could be the Yield?


About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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