Poetry: Space

 

Space is not safe
but maybe it is open
and the molecules
of air
will not kill you
to breathe.

Maybe the space 
is yours 
to begin
the experiment
of your life

or continue

dreaming 
concoctions  
stirred up
in kitchens.

Maybe this space
is sacred, 
a temple.

You will tarnish it,
surely, 
with your living.

The mixing of 
blues and oranges
leaves messiness
behind-

as does love-

broken tiles
and vows,
rugs covered
in glitter,

memories 
that pile up 
like laundry
you are sorting 
through even now:

what to keep, 
what to leave behind. 

No matter
which space 
you enter,

take off your shoes
honor it;

gods have walked here,
animals
and human beings too. 

Light incense. 
Offer it your blessing 
and thanks.

Bow when you turn- 
as all pilgrims must- 
to go.