still nothing again

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