The Delicate Art of Seeing Nothing

Looking past the sun
through the vapors of the day
the pulpy interior of clouds
past the restless hands of trees
the space between the days
the equinox of hours
the press of time
the white breath of constellations
the reverse shine
in rear view mirror of cars
the distance to the next turn
the width between the first thing you are
and the last thing you become
the time it takes to catch your breath
of seeing nothing
of untying the bow of visibility
to know that you came here
to see exactly this.

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