It's in the little moments
It's in the grand schemes
In galaxies, as well as the life story of each sand grain,
It drives some insane, it keeps some in their lane, it leads some to abstain
Me? I'm learning to let it be
It's in the finest times of my life
It's in my biggest picture, and in every plot in between
I garden with it, I eat with it
I love the space it makes, I hate the spaces it makes
I am of the spaces it makes, and I'll make a space too
"LIVE" it says, "I am on my way..."
WHAT IS IT?
It is tangible, yet not itself material.
It carries mystery, yet is itself strikingly empirical.
It is truly an in between, making it hard to guess.
It is an inherent part of life, and puts every one to rest.
The title is a stretch in terms of a clue, and came as mere muse to me in a mystical mindset. You needn't explain it to identify it. All other parts of a poem fit it fairly well I think. In due time, I'll add another two lines (clues) to the poem, which hint much more clearly at the solution.