Finding has
always been 
my purpose 
and having 
my pursuit 
but once 
now had
the joy 
of getting 
withers on
the very
vine I’d
so desperately 
planted too
much or
too little 
or not 
enough of
this and 
that and 
other things 
dried now 
just decor
of its 
once thriving 
sitting on
sill soaking 
up sun
blindly there

Oh to be 
anything other than 
was once my
rallying cry often 
wailed in darkness 
and in despair 
but now in
light filled rooms 
in this place 
of happy peace 
the question begs
like an errant 
feather poking out 
from linen duvet 
who to be
that hasn’t been 

It’s in that
emptiness I find
my empire waiting 
that wood that 
would and that
hollow that allows 
me to wallow 
the den that 
when I need 
turns the shallow 
into haloed ground 
and I swim
in the sound 
and go round 
and round until 
around I follow 
the very fellow 
and his fallow 

It’s like graphite
or lead or
a smudge and 
a smidge more 
like something erasable 
maybe a mistake 
or an error 
it’s like that 
being temporary and 
a placeholder and 
a seat filler
a plus one 
always the spare
the second but
never the first 

I offer nothing 
for in return 
I expect nothing 
love aren’t scales 
tipping one way 
and then another 
empty pockets is
what I offer 
filled with you