Wednesday, March 20, 2024

Null Finch

Hermit who works on nothing,
A bird who chirps for nothing—

No verses in your garden
Can be as terse as nothing.

The heart will burst with living,
While your notes thirst for nothing.

What could be less worth loving?
What could be worse than nothing?

Thoughts warp themselves unknotting
The love-knot quirks of nothing.

There’s no first-place for wanting,
Hurting the worst for nothing.

No verses lined in longing
Will leave their mark in nothing.

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