i laugh as though i were a place, a specific space. of course i amneither

[just an exercise]

i do laugh for instantly two spaces call to mind when asked, "if you were a place, what place would you be?" a fun game of sorts but perhaps a tad too deeply revealing. but i will play anyway.

i am that shifting gap, that tiny flitting opening shifting about in the trees' canopies in my microforest that lay at the edge of the pinewoods. yet i am not tree, not leaf nor limb, but that discontinuity of physicality, the void momentarily filled with the dappling light that dances through. i am that microchasm that rides passing itself across the song of the trees' tops stretched taunt with release in the flutter of the voicing breeze. i am that breath, shifting, sighing, ever changing, letting the light in.

laughter.

i am the second stall on the second floor of the Williams Building's women's powder room sequeezed between the Derek and a stairwell. my sides are a slick putridly pale metallic salmon, once all the rage but now outdated. rarely used, almost like new, an odd pristineness in a hidden corner of the structure tucked away. my posterior and peripheral gaps are lined with ceramic salmon and white checked coolness. smack dab at my core, the heart of my function, is a flushable orifice of white porcelain with moving parts of fake chrome. i stand with my weighted middle quietly in wait with my image perpetually cast back at me. on my left in opposition to my hinge is a mysterious barred door. i don't believe the label [mechanical]. i am pretty sure the latch has remained static for the decades i've sat here. i remain fixed, occasionally my door swings and latches. it gets me to thinking again about the uncrossed threshold. my reflection stares back at me as with nothing worth saying which of course is a whole discourse in itself. oh pot.

yes. laughter.

but which am i. at glance they seem binaurally opposites (redundant but I just needed to write that) but not? perhaps worth a ponder.