Speaking of Emptiness

From the moment I saw you, I began to feel my body
Walking back to me from a distance, dragging a sack
Full of air in its chest, a sack full of rope, a sack full
Of empty sack at the end of a rope made of rope
At the end of a strange rope I began to feel my clothing
Reaching in its pockets for a quiet place
To put itself, right away, my poor frantic clothing
Full of pockets, full of the empty concept
Of clothing that even now my pant legs long
To crawl inside of and wait.
From the moment you occurred to me, something put a strange rope
In the hands of my intellect, a rope made of
Commas that are however it should be noted without
Words in between them, so that when
I pull on the rope now, I get a perfect sentence
Full of silence, full of intelligent punctuation, I get
A quiet moment to myself, and a long
Sentence full of my own rope.
And speaking of emptiness, even now
As the night begins to shine its stars
With a dark cloth and its moist breath, I can feel
How the day felt, I can feel my feelings
Hauling the emptiness toward them using
Just these words, an emptiness that even now
Is filled with your breathing, filled with the idea
Of you breathing beside me, a thought so constant and lovely I think
I'll crawl inside of it and wait.

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