I felt the emptiness
in the corners of your lips,
the space between your fingers
and the extension of desperate arms.

Even in the eyes of a child,
the trees in the park
and between the lines of innocence, even,
there was always emptiness.

To be filled, you must have once been empty.
You are so well, so you must have once been ill.
Destroyed was first built.

Composed, then unraveled.
To be, you must have been.

I've felt the emptiness everywhere,
from the dirt under my toes, to the rain
falling, falling, falling.
Is that it?
Is the beauty of the sky, the glimmer of the stars
and the music in your chest empty,
too?

I felt the emptiness in needles and songs
and memories on paper: folded up
and placed in boxes.
I felt the emptiness everywhere

but never in the traintracks,
oceans,
shopping malls:
space, space, space
between our hearts.

I never felt it there, oh, but I've felt
the emptiness
in every other place.