The Shape of Void

The Shape of Void

Distant, and close

as close as now

and no farther than

this air

this rose

this lonely pose,

and this deferred vow.

What I see in

symbols and in prose,

is you,

hidden,

in void and in those

nulls,

blurred and shun.

Can you feel me?

I am here and you’re not,

I am there, but I ought to be,

where you are, where

the Sun is, and we.

Can you feel me?

Can you show me,

how shapes come to be,

where light avoids all,

and fails,

and how void becomes you,

and you, the shape of void,

unveiled?

The only Mohammad I knew

                The only Mohammad I knew

I read your words, brother,

but where was your voice?

I could read your mind,

but I always wondered if you

could see, or heed this void?

I wondered blind, in this distant,

surreal, stir, did you?

I recall moments and ages, brother,

when all was you and buoyed,

far from this fall, far from all.

I wonder still, brother,

will things always be,

as they never were?

Or will they, in your absence,

remain a heedless call?