Snatches of open space

you cannot expect contingency from a poem    only the want of heaven’s claw     its tear and purr
you cannot pretend not to know the poem’s speak    its calm and pose    its worried roar & pique

in anticipation of my next void    silence begets yet another choice
this open space    this metered vial    this gift of love as pain

we have not withered distance
as well as we have nicked its math

and culled its calculus    we have
not suffered any more than

what the curve and dimension of
reckoning have stood for

in their timeless worship of near
ness    their loss of prayer