Negative Space

We are made by what can't be seen

What can't be seen, or
what isn't filled--
the negative space --
the greater of all things,
perhaps, 
or at very least, 
a maker.
not the sound of wind chimes
not the gusts that move 'em:
but the silence before
and after, and also 
the forgetting.
until once again
breath stirs,
bells brush
a thing given back 
its voice
its shape.

sometimes, out walking,
I have to stop, hold tether,
standby:
flow of bodies passing, 
jetting, jostling --
I have to stop and let
liquid air fill, 
expand, contract.
on the Bond Street escalator
going up, up, 
breathless minutes.
I hold to the right,
a human river rushing 
as metal steps plod on, 
each brain chock-a-block, 
its own wishes and playlists.

what is the time for?
i keep waking earlier 
and earlier
hardly sleeping 
dreams pursue me --
schedule, calendar, checklist --
every plant watered, every day --
blocks of time, 
named and assigned 
shifting to
cul de sacs of memory. 
what I want, do I know?
until I see it before me?
until it's gone?
here, my inky marks,
scratch the glorious, 
endless, 
negative space.

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April is Poetry Month. I hope you read poetry! I personally love William Carlos Williams, who was a doctor and also wrote beautiful poetry.

Have a beautiful day!