When I stand
bundling myself about me,
pulling my warm garments tighter,
and peer up through the flawless winter air,
I look not at the stars,
bright pinpricks in a velvet sky.
And I look not at the moon,
suspended so luminous and bright.
No, though they are both beautiful in their own ways.
No, I look at the spaces in-between,
for it is in those dark crevices
that my imagination can stretch to fill the gaps.
There are no limits.
The moon has a defined space, contained within its
spherical volume.
The stars, too, have boundaries,
no matter how they glimmer and fuzz into the sky.
No, I like the infinite expanses,
those overlooked fissures.
They set me free.