'Time, Space, Distance', by Stephen Mead
The math of this isn’t diminishment
always
if expansion is imagined———
Your hands, say, being mine
here reflected upon only glass,
a train whistles field
of trees, of highways,
that energy in the passing &
to dive, say, as if dying in a burst
of sheer vibrancy
one with the seeds of green,
the asphalt’s coarse gray,
as sheer light alive in the flash
while your hands, miles away,
really hold only air
or the flesh of another,
though I feel them here
in the strangest of equations
as belonging to my own pulse
& ache
Stephen Mead is a retired Civil Servant, having worked two decades for three state agencies. Before that his more personally fulfilling career was fifteen years in healthcare. Throughout all these day jobs he was able to find time for writing poetry/essays and creating art. Occasionally he even got paid for this work. Currently he is resident artist/curator for The Chroma Museum, artistic renderings of LGBTQI historical figures, organizations and allies predominantly before Stonewall, The Chroma Museum.
Image by Adam Krypel