one day he was a man with space,
he thought,
space enough for all and every thing
until…
a voice whispered in the quiet –

“there is more”

and scratch and scratch and scratch he did
as though upon his coffin lid,
as though he was encased within
a grave made from his bones and skin

let me go, let me go
that i might take my leave;
let me go, let me go
that i might stop and grieve
that there are bigger things in this world
some of which i cannot reach