No Port in Air

Nothing is burning,
But surely the haze
Of this evening’s horizon,
Dusty rose and smoky blue,

Must mean something other than
The fact that nothing’s burning.
All we’ve ever known

Included nothing,
Some sort of nothing,
And wound up with nothing left.

But if this evening’s lying
And nothing’s really burning,
We’ll have lost our emptiness,
The point of our returning.