Maybe the space between memories is excessively beautiful
like the space between people you love
who will never move any closer to each other.
Let’s call this the universe, and say it fills the room at night.
You see things that are not there
next to things that are. This is how we feel
about the dead in old pictures
where their clothes are all wrong. We wonder
how long until we are born.
THE INSOMNIAC’S GUIDE TO RECIPROCITY
Strike a match to hear the hole it tears in the night:
your very own tiny parenthesis.
Let that drip of heat fall towards your fingers
until you remember how soft nothing can be.
Strike another. This is the law of diminishing returns.
This is why fire is not the opposite of emptiness,
and why you are not growing younger
no matter how many times you sign your name this way.
The air that is all around you is also on the other side
of the world. You dig down with the same mind
you have always had, knowing only more,
and with something less and less like surprise each time
the burn follows you into the dark.