Kwan Yin upon the mantelshelf
is made eloquent by Space.
If she were not caressed by Space,
her gilded face could not be seen,
and Amitabha at her brow
would not be manifest in form.
Her lotus-flower burgeons into space,
And her pouring-jar is given definition.
The nostrils of the dragon beneath her feet
are flared with space,
and space is mingled with the waves
which lap around her robes.
It’s Space that gives her shape, and, as Space,
her blessings are bestowed.