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  • I am water running over rock, I am
    wind in winter oaks, a rattle in dead leaves, I am
    the small silences between the words, the pauses
    in a headlong sentence, the whispers
    of a baby’s breath while sleeping.

    I am what you don’t see when you observe
    a tree, the small spaces between leaves
    too small for the sky to show through. I am
    the stillness between shivers of everyone cold,
    the hollow in the belly of those

    who hunger. I am nothing,
    the sweet stuff of space, the gap between
    planets, the nada between electrons
    and neutrons. I am the zero
    that is everything, song, and sorrow.

    For Erin Stebbins and Tiffany Paris


    This is the "sprout," the first draft of a poem I wrote for Erin and Tiffany when I read Tiffany's story, I amTiffany's story, "I am" . I am probably going to revise the poem, which I will repost later, if and when I do.


    Illustration: Painting by me, just now, of sunset at Sentinel Dome at Yosemite with Half-dome in the background. I did the painting to be a companion to the poem.
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