the space between us (is a changeling)
by nat-lipstadt
~for my favorite colored stone~
the vast oceans are not defined by their shores,
they are boundaries, merely our former selves,
now just similarizing outlines
I have lived eternities between me and another,
a wife, a lover, a human, even many a one night stand,
the playground bed is samed, an even playfield,
the rumpled sheets look identical to prior
rumpuses rumpussed,
the space between us can be
an inch wide of self~despicable,
waves of wishing
one was anywhere else-away,
another planet insufficient, a universe
maybe satisfactory, then again,
maybe still too close from discomfiture,
and then again, the space can be
made of waves of connective tissues,
heat waves generated by the
combustion of sweat, desire, fire, need,
and the space is not a space
but a sealing connection, a weaving woven,
a cloister’d tapestry,
nothing need be said,
just the existence of some
human creativity interconnectivity,
some where else is simply, inconceivable
we enter onto the compact
of a single, familiar bed, knowing the
expected, or a new unknowable,
a love phoenix on fire, or that of a
familiar silent hatred,
so fearsome it feels like a
precursor to death, yes,
death a thousand times over
how can be these few pinches of empty space,
handspan of division or a thread binding of commission,
be such varied, differing lines of a battlefield,
then perhaps,
the great oceans are indeed defined by the landmasses that gave them unique shaping but ever changing, a changeling flavoring, similar but differentiated rates of erosion, languages, perspectives both always
in search of unity, cohesion
within the spaces between our breathing
the direct attachment they once shared, before
they apart were broken…and the familiarity
was/is both good
and yet now
so mysterious distant
do, let us
break bread
make love
and voyage to discovery
at 5:28pm 6/2/26