tree tops bare in quiet sway meet
slanted rays of wintry sun pale fingers
reach through patchy cloud
slip your eyes over miles and miles
sounds come wrapped in tin foil
thinned by so much empty space
land like hollow prickles on ears
Danny said: I’ve gazed right into nothingness, and all it is
is nothing less than a long sigh of relief
I’ve tried and tried to prove myself
you won’t believe all I’ve achieved
I’ve tried to show I’m worth the salt
on anybody’s table, and only after so many years am I finally able
to see that all my precious salt isn’t worth anything at all
Andy said: this seems like a wonderful place to sit for a while
the morning sun has poured into the long grains of this bench’s wood
melting scores of moments where other people stood and sat
a pew to silent memories that we can almost touch
Danny said: I’m everything and nothing, simultaneously
all that I touch will disappear, including both of us
we’ve already lost our entire lives, faded out of reach
remember when we climbed the great apple tree?
planks of wood, and hammer and nails in hand
grand plans of what we’d make, and never
the concept that we’d failed when it took a different turn
all those moments are already gone
Andy said: sometimes I think that wood can breathe
have you ever laid on the forest floor and watched
the trunks of tall pine trees sway to and fro
look at the way the light catches the needles like tongues
of fire, as if the whole tree might go up in flames
Danny said: I’m not afraid of nothingness. I know
I need to slow down and rest, leave more time to digest
the days and days, stop trying so hard to grip onto
things that will only last a fraction of the sun
Andy said: sometimes I like to face backwards on the train
to watch the land and sky and everything between suddenly
appear in the window, hang there like lamps gently swaying
and gradually shrink and fade, so you don’t even notice
the moment when they’re no longer there
Danny said: there’s a great emptiness that sits inside
a lake that reaches far beyond what my skin could hold
whenever I stop for long enough to hear the way
I breathe, there’s a loneliness I cannot bear,
there’s loss and loss, and endings and lack, there’s sorrow for
what never was and what will never come back
Andi said: when all is quiet, the quietness grows and fills the sky
as if your eyes could reach way up there, brush
the tops of the trees and spires, as if your feet
follow and settle on the brow of the farthest hill
your eyes can pick out, and the space between
is empty and full, and you’re here and there
in ploughed up soil and asphalt street
