Why does space carry such concern?
When I stare at it
When it feels close to me
I want it to be full
Or to have a goal to achieve
Air for my tires
Dark space for our stars
It's a miss-taken attention
To pay for the space that seems nearby
An overpayment
Misdirected
When there are voids inside
the sky
the old tree below me
the empty glasses
the peach pit
I accept these voids
I don't feel responsible for filling them
I move among them
Without a second thought
Is free time a peach pit?
Essentially, it is the sky.
I don't ask much of the clouds.
If they don't strike me with lightning,
they can rain and shade and float
and of course the lightning is their prerogative.
Are clouds voids?
Do they come close to filling the sky?
Not from the window seat at altitude.
Perhaps my void anxiety
can become void acceptance.
Gaps are there, going to remain there.
The gap between two of my teeth.
The gap between moments of writing.
The space between bike rides.
The space between chain links.
I'll reverse the tube's dictate:
Don't mind the gap.
Roman Ryan 