Sometimes, no word exists to say what we mean.
Trapped as we are between dirt and sky–
our footprints of carbon, our head in the Cloud,
just animals leashed to our senses, 
singing the songs of our empiricism 
with meteorological metaphors
or with those of war or sports– 
our language often fails us. 

How marvelous then are the spaces between words–

where sounds rebound in echoes

and connotations can expand like universes

and pauses become eons for our neurons to fire–

where intuition finds meaning

 and writers and readers meet.