To breathe! Oh poem we cannot see!
Pure space exchanged continually
For one’s own being. Counterpoise,
In which I come to be, a rhythm.
Unique wave, whose
Gathering sea I am;
Space won by that least expended
Of all possible seas.
How many of these locations of voids
Were already inward, were within me.
So many of the flows of air are
Like a son to me.
Do you apprehend me, Air? - You,
Already full of my former places?
You, who have been smooth bark,
Curve and leaf of my words?
© Robert Temple 2010. Website designed by Jonathan Greet