Oddments

In search of story


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December 16.19

Can you hear the nothing?

Does it have a name?

Is it stillness? No,

it’s not the same.

It lacks the breath

the stillness sighs,

it has no pulse,

nor lives nor dies.

The hollow air

and muted street,

in want of wings

and wheels and feet,

straddle worlds

of real and not

with fragile boundary

question-fraught.

Of substance there are

shapes and weights

King Winter’s touch

obliterates.