Poem - The Light Between Things

The window is not a window. It is a frame around the light.

The glass on the table holds the afternoon the way a hand holds water.

A thread crosses the room. It does not arrive anywhere. It crosses.

The box is open. Inside: a stone, a key, a photograph of a room with a window that is not a window.

The gap between the stone and the key is where the light comes through.

The photograph is not a photograph. It is a frame around a frame.

The hand that took it is not in the frame. The hand is the gap.

The thread crosses the room again. It has been crossing since before the room was built.

The glass is empty now. The afternoon has moved to the other side of the window.

The box is closed. The light is inside.