the last piece doesn’t fit

working with nothing is what i do best:

it is lapping up the gold coins

of wishes unheard spraying in

all directions from a bird fountain—

there’s something beautiful about

trying to separate gold from bronze

in the darkness that prods at what is

amiss.

working with nothing is what i do best:

it is getting down on all fours to prey

on something unrecognisable and strange.

through the glass of the urn these ashes

are tamed and unmoving, deprived of the

winds that give them song and dance,

yet i’ve held anything more alive in my eyes.

working with nothing is what i do best:

it is holding on to a drink for longer than you know you should,

being convinced that melted ice

shouldn’t be discounted as a beverage.

the bank notes exchanged for this thinly

stretched delight were grown from the soil,

just like coffee beans, you forget.

working with nothing is what i do best:

it is unveiling the lace that shields your face

and finding nothing but stolen glimpses of

the back of your neck,

or the introspection you press between your lips—

but still loving you the same,

undocumented and subdued, anyway,

always.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s