I am vast,
atmosphere,
escaping every moment.
Forever remaking, renewing, expanding.
I am vast.
I am scenic vistas that people stare at in awed silence,
I am incomprehensible tracts of land,
I am the space between “I love you” and “I’m sorry.”
In winters, I have swallowed families whole,
forced to eat short-straw shanks cut from one another.
We are finite.
We are a limited known quantity.
We are defined and strictly so.
We have beginning and end.
When we are gone,
I will still be.
I am vast,
I am.
We are not.
You are vast,
You are.
We are not.
We are two infinites bursting at the seams of a liter canteen.
