The Space Between

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Photo by DDP on Unsplash

What if we close our eyes and teleport
from where we fall asleep to where we wake,
our entire body killed then remade,
built up shell by shell, new in every way

except in soul — a more elegant word
for consciousness — unable to measure
the long space between, uncertain of the
motion and the measure? Do fish with their

open eyes cheat? Are the moles and cave shrimp
time travelers? If I knew all it would
take is a hot poker in my eyes, I
would have built a fire long ago, and

plunged the iron deep into red ashes;
sticky heat the key to all the kingdoms.

© Trapper Markelz 2020

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