Space

… You who are so good with words
And at keeping things vague
Because I need some of that vagueness now
It’s all come back too clearly
Yes I loved you dearly….

— Joan Baez

There is space
Between the word
And the thing

Not because of lies
Those reverse tetragrammatons gnawing at reality
Trying to unmake the thing

Nor that other magic
Incantations
That seek to move without being moved

Space is for breathing room
Freedom
You want it too, don’t you?

We make a virtue out of incapacity
And wander around
In a world just a little out of focus

But misunderstandings compound
And late or soon
We lose the umbilical

Not merely adrift
But dying
Unable to breathe vacuum

Actually
There are two spaces
Yours and mine

Space between the word spoken
And the thing
And the word heard

No, there are three
Because the word heard
Is not the word

And really
It’s getting
A bit ridiculous

Maybe there are four
Or more
I don’t know

Maybe the space of words
Is a Cantor dust
In thing-space

(Did you understand that?
I don’t think
It matters

If it’s true
The chances of understanding
Are infinitesimal anyway)

More words don’t help
Because each word
Has its own burden of space

And who will deliver me
From this empty
Lifeless vacuum?

Can the utterance become the thing?
Reality become real?
The word become flesh?

Only if the one
Uttering the word
Knows exactly what he is doing