Spaces Ii

(continued from Part 1) Two points create a line A space from two words And on and on a verse A poetry line is sound and sense A dense fabric of many textures & hues Woven on a temporal loom With patterns numberless And spaces to process Call it 'opening the spigot' Listening to the inner voice The once-empty vessel now filled With experience rich & varied Readings and reflections And most of all, life Life upon life pouring forth Such that it fairly frightens you And humbles too In all its prodigal richness Turn the tap, it's all there There in the spaces inside A child held aloft on a swing Endowed is she with energy Potential energy it’s called But where of all places does that energy reside? Inside the child? Or in your hands? Or maybe in God’s mind? It matters not for there it abides Waiting patiently to be untied Released it will not knock nor queue in line Such energy in all of us lies At a fixéd point whose locus is nowhere And whose circumference infinite is These are my ears; they have yet to fail me These, my hands; strong, broad, and true Forearms corded, purple veins At once forceful and delicate, tender and terrible A man’s hands but also an animal’s Capable of many things Made for honest labor Or simply tracing God’s noble thoughts on paper Many songs have been wrought On a lover’s sigh A letter unsent A sentiment unspoken The essence of art is its very insubstance And therein, too, its beauty The most fantastical butterfly trapped in a jar The laboratory specimen, disrobed, pinned open on paraffin To dissect is to destroy, but To know life we must take life In order to live, something else must die Therein the paradox lies But all life is restored through poetry Ars langa, vita brevis Art is long, life is short The poet breathes, recussitates, revives, renews In every language of the world Spirit & air are one & the same – spire, spirit Respire, breathe out; expire, stop breathing Aspire, breathe higher; inspire, give life Yahweh, Allah, God The spirit moves us as wind in the trees Unseen, though present, animating We all give voice to what’s within As the forest gives voice to the wind And so I end as I begin I am Späces, the poet's muse And I bring something old and something new For your pleasure and profit Come, if these few words do thee delight Fill up this space on this day of nights.