Here is nothing
No drip from the tap falling
and at every window curtains
waiting for a breeze.
This kind of silence blooms so big
that all there is to do is find a space to be
Listen to the quiet tap. Those blank panes.
Listen to the green chair quiet
and unfilled and shocking.
Here is nothing. You let the dusk
happen. You can’t see to move.
By Rachel CurzonQLRS Vol. 4 No. 2 Jan 2005