The space between is filled with big things.
Ancient and empty bowls carved
with unlimited edges, honed in a furnace
that burned out long before we were born.
While we live we circle, grabbing the tail
of the elephant in front; maybe it’s a snake,
or a whip, or a rope that keeps us all
from falling off the mountain as long as
one person remains with pen and mind;
writing the detailed story until some giant
with an iron heart shatters the sky; a silent
crack, a brief blink, and a long dusty exhale.
© Trapper Markelz 2020
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