Between lightning and thunder is a story. The storm
that rumbles in the distance is caught in my lungs.
How can I tell you that it is getting closer?
This room, when you are in it, devours
all of my air. Meet me, I want to say,
but the letter e is stuck in my throat.
What if we let our shapes say everything?
I found the sliver of space between you and I
at the center of a labyrinth. If I hadn’t tried
so hard to name it, would the space still move?