The space that binds us
by Deenaz Coachbuilder

I keep washing my hands
20 seconds they say,
20 seconds of

eternity.
From Wuhan to Milan
the breezes blow

invisible currents
connecting
microbes and mortals.

Safe at home, I convince myself,
lulled in the backyard patio
gazing at the remote

San Bernardino mountains
80 miles afar
yet closer than an eyelid's flash.

This is the place where my soul's strings loosen.
They float among double delight roses
sweep over decomposed granite walkways

swoop, encircle
then stream way out over caverns remote
for I am everywhere

and nowhere,
shedding bits of flesh I never owned,
preserving merely essence.

The universe's vibrations bind,
the space between
an illusion

for there is no space
between us,
spiritual brethren,

all.

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