I was too empty for words,
nothingness gnawing
at my insides, where
rhythm and rhyme
used to picket and pulse.
And maybe there’s richness
in the silent calm of nothings.
Empty flower beds waiting,
for the next buds of spring.
Yet spring has now sprung
From whence will the words come
With which I seduce?
When will I see her bloom
Through the craft of my care?
The words, well up within
When I see her
Truly see her
Not just a cursory glance
Across a room filled with
Platitudes and misgivings.
For there she is,
She who must be touched
Brought to life
Nourished and fertilised
Free to flourish
In her way
In her time
