Teeny tiny hands let it be--

between

the furniture & music of a piano,

It

developes the taste for a certain

texture.

How relatable.

As frequencies turn my beard into

dancing flies.

It comes into focus...

another absentminded midwife

wearing a cupid arrow headband,

loses balance.

As a body of water sweeps away

broken glass.

The way things point out that there's

nothing there--there's really nothing

there.

While the depth & duration of that

nothing is saved, when we come back

from It.

Midwifed by the nearest thing you

could poke.