“Filling Empty Spaces”

Once, while lying side by side in the dark,
you placed a small hand on my throat to feel my voice
a whispered gesture as intimate as a lullaby
and I consider this now
this symphony of touch
words suspended, frozen in mid air
hovering over the bed between us
like specks of ice
Your palm outstretched to listen,
my voice a petal, pressed between locked pages
in a book that transcends translation.
All this, so much like the Wheeler installation.
Remember how we waited in line for hours
that afternoon in Chelsea
not knowing what to expect
only to walk into a room of pure light and nothing more
a depthless space of bloated white walls
as empty and infinite as deafness in the dark
my eyes desperately searching for shape
trying to fix onto an object, a corner, or an angle,
but there was nothing,
nothing at all to grab a hold of,
a room so empty that light itself became a presence
like the Spirit of God, hovering like a word
over the surface of the deep
Had I not seen it with my own eyes
I would not have known that light too creates an absence
more blinding than darkness
and pristine silence can fill a room
with stories I read like a hieroglyph
Your hand mouth reaches to speak
and I shine a flashlight on your thumb tongue
finger lips move rapidly casting shadow
puppets onto the bedroom wall
I see your voice, I hear your face.