Out Of Nothing

From the corner of one eye the pendulum of a clock swings,

ticks the seconds away from my life. A last bouquet

from the fall garden, two tiger lilies, a sunflower, boxwood greens

face me from a blue vase on the drop-leaf table.

A bronze door encloses the fireplace where logs rest on an iron bed.

Pillows on the sofa comfort no one.

Outside the rain-spattered window, one seagull curves a path

of gray grace, disappears beyond borders I create.

The unfilled chairs, empty cups, saucers on glass shelves tell me

out of nothing, the universe expands away from the center

of every living thing, and I know in the same darkness

of sunflower seed, I circle on the back of the great white whale

in and out of star and sunlight.

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