We abate
softly
into nothingness
into finality
into the darkness
beneath a great empty canvas
and so on this certain passing
I felt almost touched
and almost
momentarily elated
if you will
from the brooding vacuous maelstrom
that has become most days
it was somewhat like catching
the whisper of an echo
in a backroom
or hearing the flight
of a hummingbird
at the other end
of the garden,
catching a ghost
at the edge
of a photograph,
reaching out and
touching dust
floating in sunlight,
absorbing the strain
of a single violin
in a blazing symphony
or feeling the breeze
that barely bends the meadow.

As fleeting as fireflies
we become to each other.

Just give it a little time
and everything
becomes nothing.