Ace of Cups

A cloud is mostly space. But then, so are you. Mostly the space between one bit of one atom and the next. The space in your lungs that calls out for air. The emptiness in your belly that calls out for food. The ceaseless contraction of your heart that calls out for love, and receives again and again your own renewed blood. Like a child drawing a tree, we create the empty outline of the thing before we fill it with color. The cup has made itself so empty that it overflows.