Elana Wolff·PoetryNegative SpaceShareThe sky spreads out in shades of hay: sky adept at holding everything ruinous,anything good. Rockets meetingmissiles from the rooftop Tuesday night; you called me to report you felt protected.Only plumes of smoke, you said, below the dome above your home. By morningsallow shadow on the peach and loquat ground. Skyas smooth and mellow as a flugelhorn parade. If one word only remained, it would have to be space.From reverie of inner worlds to after Afterlife—where everything is given to conjecture—Put your proofs on this. There’s autumn in the aftertasteof plums. And in the troughs and companies of color in this picture. The imageshifts by time of light: at dusk a tree in negative space;at dawn its limbs are facets and the company of color broken up. Yet tree still—archetypal tree—the brain retains this shape. I can’t locate, in the files of my mind,the archetype of you.