All of us a word in this sentence,
Stating the ambiguity of space,
And you can change it but you can’t
Make it change, conjoining
Until you feel the forward moving
Of the sound, see the space
Between the shapes of letters,
White with heavy winter meaning;
Maybe there is clarity there,
Marking the ground of the conceit,
But certainly there is no distinction:
The story of my soul is here—--
The white gull’s wing on white sky.
