Space
it’s an endless void of emptiness
in a starkness filled with play
it’s a synonym of every dream
in an antonym yet to try
it’s a darkened apron of inkiness
in a sparkling bejewelled sea
it’s a long in-tangent monologue
in a verse-laden melody
it’s the flailing arms of solitude
in a crowded room of song
it’s a screaming siren tempest queen
in the court of an unready king
it’s high above what I can hold
in the grass I lay my head
it’s a dry old gaze as I’m looking up
in the forming dew before bed
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