Between Two and Three

The nights seem to come sooner, quicker now
One right after another, before a morning can last
Before an afternoon can sweat
Night comes again

In it there is only space looking to be filled
The same space that was dealt with in yesterday’s darkness
Here again

The more mornings and nights I see
The fewer friends I notice, come by, and occupy
Maybe the space of the nights is just this space in life
This time when, well, I don’t know
It’s just…
Space, looking to be filled

Now though I grab at anything that makes noise
A film, a song, the white noise of the box
So the space will be filled with something
Not the sound of Bach, or the beauty of a woman’s voice
But it fills the space… something has to

They say proudly, “How much could I accomplish
with your space!”
But this hollowness doesn’t inspire
It doesn’t motivate
In fact it can stifle, and bore, and suffocate

The night’s empty space is relentless and bold
But even within, there are the strings
The high strings that can change the tone of a haunting overture
Into the sun shined space of spring

For me, day is the sound of her voice
The melody of the wine that touches our lips
That breaks the space cluttered with cheapened help
Here we find what truly fills
What truly frees
Here in the space between two and three…
Is the only hope for wine...
Between eight and nine