when nothing is something

Whenever you think you have nothing to say, I suggest you listen to that voice in your head that never quiets down. It’s always saying something. You may think you’ve got nothing but that’s not true. To wit –

I believe that having nothing to say

Says a lot about me,

About how I can be.

I believe this trail of curling ink

Weaves a transparent cloth,

Invisible to you, but not to me.

I believe – no, I know! – I know

This flow of no

Words, invisible ink,

Transparent cloth

Is one way I assert

That what I think

Is an airy froth

That settles when stirred

The excess

Evaporating into a

Vague impression of

A long-ago memory

That’s only

A few minutes old.

And I surely believe

In the concreteness – like

A sidewalk that would

Smack me bloody in my face

If I trip on the soles

Of my brand new sneakers

– Concrete, hard and so real

Are my invisibly nothing imaginings

Silently coursing

Cascading

Waterfalling

Creating

Mountains and valleys

And rivers and oceans

Of matter.

They scatter

Like a big bang of clattering

Creation spinning apart

At the speed of

Falling in love

Pushing each other

Away

Like pain

Until they slow

And begin their pausing

And fall one by one

Like rain

Drops soft and separated

Isolated.

Invisible timeless

Thoughts-not-thoughts

On a sunny

Liminal

Winter-almost-spring

Sunny afternoon.

Just me sitting here

Cloaked in my

Invisible

Warm

Blanket

Woven of nothing.

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3/3/2025