Emptiness

Most

  of what

we think

solid

is space.

   distance

         listening

     waiting.

Before

    anything

           is named,

possibility

        holds.

The darkness

      trembling.

Tell me              

do you

   imagine

         it empty?

In the shadow

         of nothing

brief particles

    appear

disappear

arising

returning.

The dark

almost

     still.

Within

  this womb,

an awakening.

Heavy elements

are forged

  under the weight

of gravity

but the iron

in your blood

waited

for a star

to die

and now

  with each

heartbeat

for a brief

while

energy

holds

this

   shape.

Look to

  your hand.

Within it rests

a stone.

Made

of the same

matter,

what is

 their

difference?

A brass bowl

in the courtyard

holds

ash

and rain.

Someone

kneels.

Attention

   brightens

the interval.

For a moment

improbable

coherence

holds

stillness

  gathering