blank like the stars are blank
and the leaf
and all the leaves
and the carpet
and the ceiling
nothing brings relief
when not even love has meaning
only breath
only breathing
morning coffee
things fall apart
cannot be repaired
for that reason
we sometimes despair
a path leads up the field
towards the ridge
then peters out
they should put an archive
of broken things up there
where uncertainty
meets intangible air
at first light
I could photograph them
put them in a book
a resource for all the world
it would only take a moment
to flick through
we are disposable
even the things
I could not photograph
belong up there
past care
thick
with morning coffee
stand back from the edge
desolation
despair
these are common coins
everywhere
hang a curtain across the day
build an imaginary marina
and go sailing
sun dappling the water
white apartments
reflecting in the bay
take a deep breath
stand back from the edge
