Home | ( Poetry | Outside ) | Links

Stretch vacuum against vacuum,
binding it simply, with soap and water. 
Let light hit, dance, swirl patterns on the surface.
I am,
am hollow stretched to substance
to hold out the emptiness, to hold out cold.
Inside the vacuum, energy plays,
making pins-and-needles on my skin,
now speckled in abundance,
now quiescent, less than nothing.
I ride the torrent, endure it,
let the wind carry me, let the water,
all my tension holding me together against gravity.
And you ask me, why are you so tense?

Let the wind carry me to you.
I am hollow against hollow, straining.
I touch your lips and overflow,
spill out vacuum energy,
amid cool sudden drops of soapwater.
Some days it is only the thought of that touch
that fills me to bursting.
But each day I return, explaining —
it's not for love that I'm crying,
but love was the last straw, the gentle one,
the drop of rain on the camel's back
when all her burden is soon-dissolving salt.
And wind or no wind,
rain or no rain,
polarity calls to polarity.
I know that I will drift to you, even so.