Consider the space
between thoughts,
moments when the mind
composes exactly what it thinks
and the lips wait
to be filled with language.

Or consider the space
that washes over a canvas
when art is revealed
in the patterns of
the scattered ink.

Consider, too the brief space of your days,
the moments between
the obstacle race
of minutes and hours,
and picture it
filled with light,
and with a thousand epiphanies
lying in wait.

Adapted from a poem with the same title by Linda Pastan (b. 1932).