unplanned ode to this place

i find my self hanging out here tonight
in the hope that i might just chance upon the warm blanket or familiar scent ive been chasing all along

quite a cosy space,this
like a make-shift matchbox home ; new,white-washed, inviting, deathly, soothing and inspiring
like a mammoth scrabble board sprawled with Fill In The Blanks exercises

home is as home should be ; sacred and protective
but tonight
it is as if respite has shifted base to a space that exists in limbo
i know i will linger here awhile...do nothing, try not to think of anything or maybe, stand by the window beckoning the sun to ignite a new tomorrow...maybe i will serenade the moon and stars, send love letters out to the universe only so that this dense pitch night doesnt leave like it is on shift-duty
i will stand by the windows, looking out, looking up
i might even allow my self to fall asleep on the white floor here, it is cold but so is the night

no im not complaining
the ground beneath my feet is a carpet of multi textured earth, it is pebbles dust blood soil manure bones stone diamond rust treasure memory footprint remnant everything
i have attuned my feet to this earth ; i respect this earth
this is sacred ground
i can see silhouettes of drunken trees swaying with the breeze ; it feels like eavesdropping on a conversation between two very interesting looking people in a public place
this is a far cry from a public space,though
i can sense something great tingling in the atmosphere
a process, cycle..something that is eternal and too too great to fathom or make sense of
i retire too easily from trying to play sleuth
this space is comforting because there are no people here
words are paramount
they are all - plasticine, toolkit, apparatus,paint,angels, demons,everything and zilch at the same time.

but then this place is acceptant
it feels like keeping a pet for company
it is beginning to get strung to me
it listens and accepts
accomodates and gives infinitely
it is comforting and pure
it has charm and permanent leg-room
it is always vacant and in-waiting

it just....is....as it is...and does not aspire to be any other

when i close my eyes and make a picture
i see clearly
that this place carries in its emptiness the same faraway look
that i carry in my eyes