Is it INvalid or inVALid?

I ask the air as I write,

No one answers, 

so I decide on my own.

How hard could it be,

To write the next poem?

I find the words

In the space above the air.

Underneath the couch,

In my purse,

Maybe they’re in the tree outside my window.

I don’t know if they should stay where I found them,

Or if I should put them here, or maybe there?

It is my joy to work in these circles,

Because a poem is only done when I say it’s done.