I will never die in my youth or know what that’s like
but surviving, to lose friends, I try
to imagine nothing and the whole of what it is to die.
There is a lot of movement, but it is nothing.
There is a light in the yard, but it is nothing.
Rain, making December even darker, but that’s nothing.
Wear bright red lipstick, look at me sideways and smile.
I will caress your hand with my hand for a while.
No. No, this was a dream.
A book store which sold wine. Crowds and glass doors. Nothing.
But for anxious moments you weren’t seen.
I was reading a book, just for literary information.
Thinking I loved you, again. Knowing it was nothing.
But in the dream enjoying the sensation.
The ultimate boredom of nothing! Yet to those who are really nice
nothing is paradise.