2. TO THE EDGES OF EMPTINESS
the thunder of departing
Doppler skies.
the descending chant
of iron birds.
—
when those eyes
disappear,
when that voice
can no longer be heard,
(though deep inside every second
of every hour, like the scent
of something lost,
familiar from childhood)
our edges blur,
focus becomes irrelevant.
we become the lost,
the fading,
unaware of
where we are and were.
formed, framed each day
by that voice, that look, that smile.
its absence a gaping hole,
heart, soul and stars rush through
to unanaesthetised emptiness.
diminished by each second of absence
emptying into that space
where your scent and memory lingers
for a moment, still.
—
so, you have gone,
and taken,too, the one real world
along with you.
leaving a changeling, a perfect simulacrum,
devoid of feeling.
a mechanical resemblance,
a world as if nothing
had changed: sunlight,
laughter, time moving.
even the finest detail,
ants, dust motes, petals,
all hollow, purposeless.
—
temple precinct
by the incense bowl
two old ladies wafting smoke
to all their aching joints, aching bones,
laughing.
—
flopping amongst green shadows
black crow hunting for food.
cries from bright tree tops
—
old man dozing
clouds of incense
priest’s voice chanting
—-
