Between: Something I've Been Meaning To Think About

That driver's got his hand out the window
dangling as if in a creek, testing the radio
waves that eddy and pool. Wireless trans-
missions move with the same kind
of din and echo as blood in your veins.
Having had pierced veins and collapsed veins, been
double-stuck, triple-stuck, stuck enough
to move to another arm,
and had needles resting in veins like the sword
in the stone. I you believe me, they vibrate
with a machined speed. That

driver idles in the heat
that is today like hot skin and

the cold universe and its spaces and its nearly irrelevent
planets are as if absent. Stars? They
become like stomachs of acid and engines.

Between two buildings, wind pushes through.
These alleys hum with HVAC
vents and drafts. This is the kind of space I
imagine exists between molecules circling; and
between twisted bands of DNA; and the place
of juncture and gap between dendrite, nerve,
and synapse; and the moment before
the sperm penetrates the ovum.
Pressure and force comprise
the data: a heart beat. Believe me I you they,
I feel it mutter and lapse and click
like that creek filled with egg-
sized stones and water and for now
it moves its lubricated
way eroding the very
earth of flesh that defines it.

Copyright Louise Robertson