All I recognize
is absence
yet I have no definition
to explain absence
as if in a trance
where not black
not symbols
of time, nor distance.
I try to lift my foot,
but never move
one place is the
same as another.
strangely, sound
penetrates, echoes,
my movements make noise,
but nothing is real,
I see a book, floating,
I hear the petals fall,
from flowers without
scent, colorless,
the absence is a bridge
between the true and
the imagined is not
enough to become
replacement for life
not a replacement
for adoration, not love.
The silence of this is what first impressed upon me as I read, and it seemed as if you were suspended with no movement. As I read again, however, actions became more apparent: a body with movement even if the foot stayed still, a falling petal, a floating book. Still, there seems to be the same suspension. I enjoyed reading this and suspect more will emerge with future readings.