Reflecting on Nothing while hunting

"In a field/ I am the absence of field", writes Poet Mark Strand in "Making Things Whole". I thought about these lines all week as I stood in the Alabama woods. "The field" is quite literally what I am observing, in its every detail. I am very definitely part of the scene. I can see my camo-clad legs and booted feet, and am acutely aware of every twitch of nerves, sensation of heat or cold, and every decision to move, however slightly. In what sense am I "an absence?" I suppose it is the "I" that does the observing, the "platform" from which the field is observed and known as a field. I alone (as far as can be known) can detach myself from the scene, wander forward and backward in time, imagine this place as it will be when I have left it. I can turn inward and focus upon this "I", but cannot get "behind" it to observe "it" because "it" is always where I am. Can it be called an "it" at all? I seem to be a "nothing", a "no it", perched on the edge of the field, immersed in the field, inhabiting the field, but not the field. "In the field/I am the absence of field."
   The no-thing that I seem to be is what connects me to the no-thing that I invoke and seek in the woods. "God" is the "I" that witnesses the field I inhabit, the field I am not. "Wherever I am/ I am the thing that is missing." God is the missing "thing" in every field, every scene, the unobservable observer, receding before every effort to turn back and see, the ubiquitous absence, our companion in nothingness.