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Empty

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Empty,
like a coin dropped down a well:
Down, down,
further, further,
darker,
out of sight,
out of earshot,
its splash is echoless.

Empty,
like an abandoned car
in a flowering field at sunset:
a rusting novelty,
the only thing to witness
the ebbing rays
of an eventless day.

Empty:
The word itself is a paradox,
as is the feeling:

Emptiness:
Nothingness, hollowness:
nine letters, nonetheless.
Speaking “empty” aloud
eliminates the emptiness
for a fruitless moment.

Emptiness:
How do you fix it
when the feeling itself
is devoid of substance?

How do you solve
a paradox?

How do you begin to grasp
Nothing?




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