Empty is Everything


There’s a change in the air

brief flashes

shaded in El Greco skies

hammering messages

where mountains rise

but remain indecipherable

in the distance.

Behold the lucent wind gusts

shimmering in the light

transient angels in flight

shivering the landscape

from leaves to window panes

with a whistling refrain

as they pass into the distance.

Unprepared to sever completely

the warmth that holds you inside,

seeping into the skin

enveloping, sleeping in

to the collapse

of autumnal ash

in smoldering wood fires.

Its scented aura

expelled from the parlour

to halo chimneys

in the distance.

Through small drifts

the runaway is renewed,

clouds never stationary

but guided through our periphery,

leaving no trace

save a silent footprint

that borders the space

where the sky meets the sea

in the distance.

A bead of sweat

is a poem still wet,

 the stain of its ink

won’t cover the landscape we think,

evading rain

it’s driving and draining

your every thought,

laying the stone of this road

alternating dreams

with all you were taught

passed by way of blacktop

receding into the distance.

Memory is brightly guiding

in the darkest of places

bonfires on beaches,

so gather what you wish

until loosened from a gloved fist

that supple fish

swimming to far shores

years in the distance.

It is something to grasp at

but come up empty.

Well empty is everything…

to us anyway.


6 thoughts on “Empty is Everything

  1. cindy knoke says:

    it is
    this is

  2. … / A bead of sweat / is a poem still wet, / the stain of its ink / …

  3. 00individual says:

    Thanks for the the many interesting visuals!

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