measurements

The space between simple straining & seeming
struck still by a miscue from Olympus won't
span a gap grown graceful over some summers now.
the difference isn't much, the want of an acorn to give up
the good fight & fluster. Burrow all the Mediterranean
in the rest of me. If God still throws lightning bolst,
my arms are open. An ocean is an ocean no matter
how bothered by storms. Still, the space between
being seen streaming & some strumming of a heartstring
in an empty room is more than all the oceans.
The space between Sisyphus smiling
& an ice-plighted peak; je juste voudrais tomber.
Where will you be when it really starts,
the worst snow falls? I'm around, buried
between drained harbors and birdnests tucked up
under half-lit streetlights. Expanding, sure I am.
Shrinking only if you see lightning
on the same Florida horizon as forever
electric & take shelter, leave me to gape.