Beyond "I"

The horizon rises slightly:
browned grass, scrubbrush, old fenceline, rusting metal wire.
All is out of focus as viewed from far:
out a dirty window, needing replacement, leaking cold air .
Summer’s shells of bodies: dirt, dust, debris,
all unknowns reminding of other lives in tiny particles,
the powdered dance of air (All matter dances).
If no space is empty, fullness is impossible, too.