The sound of a telephone ringing

in an empty room

is cousin to a black hole,

to the petite gyre of a pencil point,

tires screeching without collision


A vagrant rummaging in dumpsters

searches in deserted streets and alleys;

a deluded soul seeker in biblical beard

hopes a vaguely familiar apparition

will rise from the spirit of a manhole


Emptiness hovers just above insidious interludes

where conversations stop for want of a word,

receding too rapidly to be snared,

elusive as night spirits coming to menace

spaces between closed doors, between walls


A psychic pictures absence in a seance;

a kiss hungers for another kiss;

a woman sunken in her lover’s arms

sobs without knowing why,

defenseless against what overwhelms her