Glass

Breathing and its inaccurate copies, being
beating. i try stillness to isolate the feeling
of space’s emptiness. like a second skin not to
lose hollowness to the boundless dispersal

of matter around me

if i could really soak that shit

in. it’s a different color of quiet
against the vacuum in me trying
to reflect. a test of absorption. stains in

different depths on similar surfaces
the close density of our availability is rhythmic
and open to pervasion

when i say we i mean the difference
between me and the whole world congealed
thickly in a structure of otherness
projected chocolate. i can be quite thin

and admit porous limits between my emptiness
in the spaces i’ve filled. but i want now
to stop bleeding, please. do you see yet
how this weave could form a gauze for us?

i’m trying too. not to speak to not be emptied
to smear the specks of unspeakable content
over more of me inside

for closeness texturally
to air’s thinness. intervals of imperceptible

touch. where i’m different just enough to
be split open. then merged.