Distance

That row of houses splits
sky from water as a thought divides
a moment into a memory.
The space between the trees
is for the fox to slip between
and the area around the fox
is for the trees and wind to fill.
Clouds weigh on average
about five elephants, and all
around them is weightless.
There is always room for more.
The American Promise. Here,
even clouds can’t just be themselves,
we must see ourselves in them.
All those molecules are eyes, nose, lips,
just the right proportions, to be us.

Last night, I filled the openness
of our living room with a Bengal tiger.
It wasn’t enough to have the space
around the sofa and cold television.
In its pace, there was more detached ennui
than stalking. It floated once
through the ottoman and a pile of books,
unable to see through its sadness
where it was going.

The distance between my face
and your face is a filter.
Apply fox eyes, and a bright burnt sienna
blaze becomes you, as an old woman shouts,
“Get out of here! You’re beautiful!”
Run. Become an atom,
the distance between clouds.