space

where is there space
between nib and ink
between tear and eye
one produces the other

drops fall on paper
washing away the hate
that gathers like dust
from the dailiness of days

where is there space
between you and I
between my things and your things
between what you see and what I see when we sit together

our medium is liquid
no words said
no ink no paper no bed
just eyes which grieve the same dead