Whatever the Night Anticipates
While waiting for the moment
we are here
we are there
sometimes weak sometimes strong
We wait
to say nothing
on this line
between space
We trespass against others and on landscapes
flashing words floating
for better or worse
with every sense except sight
Piles and piles of thoughts under thoughts
even impressions of thoughts
are in the constellations
and their emptiness
is there emptiness
if we look
standing on the edge
of both present and past
Do we know it
like the night anticipates the within
Is the voice a no body
or the patron saint of improbability
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