The Turning Tide

The backend of nothing is something
in the void we hold one another accountable
pushing bodies to and fro
with no accusation from on high that anything we do
can be defended as meaningful.

And in the snow
where evidence of our passing
lies even in the most vigilant of winds
we can’t fail to see
the emergence of patterns
the reminiscence of fall
the turning tide of spring.

Why not forget all that came before?
Why not peer into that void
hoping for the formless
to remain
in all ways.


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