[amazing picture here ]

what's within
a rock that lives
by the mouth of
the river?
what's within
a rock that's
been kicked
for so long
the only taste
in its mouth
is pure gray
and what's the difference
between a rock from New York
and one from Barcelona?
I mean, if there is a very
noticeable difference between
a New Yorker and a Barcelonian
there must be a deep difference
between the rocks too.
I must only imagine the difference
must lie in what's within.

what is it that is within
an oak tree whose roots have
traveled further than
any ship or men that
my eyes have seen?
perhaps there is a massive
structure, like bones,
muscles and skin, but
made out of wood, within.

what is within any
pulsing heart that
makes it more than
just a muscle?
more than just reactionary
to chemical elements
dancing to their routine
and more about
our choices and expectations,
desires and lessons,
pauses and actions?

if I asked any heart
what is it that's within
they might have
different answers.
they might have
no answer at all
for sometimes what's within
can just be so in
it knows no other
than to be inside.

so what's within
words that are thrown
like boomerangs
waiting for their way back
to their source, to their
at some point...?
the journey back
may never happen...
they may crash into
another word-boomerang
with such force
that they no longer
possess the ability
to think they
can fly... and so,
let it go.
it's by acting with
wings that they fly.
but perhaps it is not just
the boomerang you
choose to throw
but also how you do so.
then there might be a chance
of an encounter which
the two will touch
and revolve around
each other...
but what's within
these revolving doors
I can assure you is
mere repetition.
so I can only imagine
it is also about
choosing when to
throw it, and where to.
make it a Time
when you're not looking
and make it of the destination
more about the journey
and less about the final stop:
most times it's not the one
we hoped for,
and most times there isn't
a final stop.
and what's within
a final stop
that makes it so different
from a comma?

setting an intention is really
a very powerful thing.

you see, if you read
this poem rather than
listened to it you'd
notice after every full stop
there is no capitalization,
as if my stops were
actually not meant to stop
but just slightly. pause.
so commas, really. not stops.

it must be that then, what's
within a full stop: pauses.

so I paused by a comma
to think about
what is that's within
this air that makes it
melt in my lungs
like caramel fudge
I tasted out of a stolen kiss?
what makes it be everywhere
and crawl so gently
across our skin?
do you think it was because
of Air that you and I met?
do you think that it was
within this Air
that our moment became just ours?
that our moment meant
more than just a rock,
a tree or a muscle,
more than our entire
record of conversations,
poems, texting, chapters,
stories, History...
that it took it first
steps into a certain shape
and into something
an Idea that has no Idea
or an Ideal that followed
its own Ideal,
a Path that because it
followed itself it
unfolded into something
new, it edified itself
into this.
"this" which I
cannot explain.

I can only believe
it was because of
that you and I met.
somehow you heard
sounds that are unheard
if not listened to
what's within.
and I think you have
what's within
because of Air too.


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