The space that binds us
by Deenaz Coachbuilder
I keep washing my hands
20 seconds they say,
20 seconds of
From Wuhan to Milan
the breezes blow
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
then stream way out over caverns remote
for I am everywhere
shedding bits of flesh I never owned,
preserving merely essence.
The universe's vibrations bind,
the space between
for there is no space