Nothingness
I almost bought the whole sale.
I read the signs.
I watched the news.
I turned items of interest over in my head.
And, once their illusions became real to me, I died.
You will die.
Then, the flowers will not bloom.
The sky will swallow its last bite of soot.
A hole will open up and space will swallow our planet.
I once thought, “I am a tree.”
Now I know, I am a fluttering bird caught in a vacuum of nuclear bombs.
I am many feet and arms and bodies severed and mangled floating in space.
Emptiness.
Nothingness.
I am a seed with no place to sprout my roots.
