Once when I read the funnies I took my little magnifying glass and looked too close. Forms became colors and colors were just arrays of dots and between the dots I saw the rough bleak storyless legend of the pulp paper empty as the winter moon and I dreaded it. I had looked right through, when I wanted a universe that sustains looker and looking and the seen forever, detail after detail never ending. And all I had found was between. But between had its own song: Find it in the space between— it is just as empty as it seems but this blankness is your mother.
From Red Actions: Selected Poems 1960-1993. Copyright © 1995 by Robert Kelly. Used by permission of the author.