Praise to the emptiness that blanks out existence.
Existence: this place made from our love
for that emptiness!
Yet somehow comes emptiness,
this existence goes.
Praise to that happening over and over.
For years I pulled my own existence out of emptiness.
Then one swoop, one swing of the arm,
that work is over.
Free of who I was, free of presence, free
of dangerous fear, hope, free
of mountainous wanting.
These words I am saying so much begin to lose meaning.
Existence, emptiness, mountain, straw.
Words and what they try to say,
swept out the window, down the slant of the roof.
