Dead Space (a poem)

I called it “dead space,”

Something to bury

With noise

Or fill

With ink.

I didn’t know it was

A virgin canvas,

A pause between gusts,

A moment of full attention,

A catching of breath,

A quick turn to see

On the periphery

A spark in


I didn’t see its fulness,

Its potential,

Its receptivity

To exactly

What I

Need right now.