Neither the feet clinging to the soil,
nor the hands holding on to the road,
least the legs running distances,
account for the space where life dwells.
That one, no one grasps.
Not even granted wish,
nor the will to hunt it down,
least the sigh watching it from afar.
That space, so close and forceful,
which is not touched, nor classed or stored,
which is breathed, blown and slipped,
just passed by where we see not.
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