how is it possible
that the absence
of a presence
could be so tangible;
that there is a shape
to fluid nothing,
and that a void
could be defined?

i sense
the boundaries
of emptiness
when i cut vegetables
at your table
as you stand
transparent
in plain sight,
so patently invisible
i could describe
your every feature;
and i am deafened
by your screaming silence

but i see your eyes in the mirror,
a borrowed blue

mortality gnaws
like a hungry dog
seeking out the marrow
of a life lived –
good or bad.

what does it care
of quality or
compassion
when it is starving
and our bones,
they lie so close.