09: Nothing Will Take You

The light that passes through the window,

contracting my iris - white sand through your fingers,

a spaceship, floodlight in an open field of long grass,

projected on the wall.

Your hands stretched out, spread down;

it licks the gray matter of your fingers, the air, the grass, the air

         - nothing is there in the picture

         - but you

         - other than

         - space