WHAT ABOUT BETWEEN THE WORDS?


You think you hear me talk
to you from one tin cup
to another, my word pulsating
through a connection strung between us,
but there are no strings,
just the fine silk spun by a widow
rubbing smooth against our skin.


Way back when I stepped off the airplane
and down into an endless web, I began to walk.
Halfway there, trying to step over and
between the threads, I stumble upon
these words: “If ever I took
an isolated step, it must have landed
on something other than earth.”