Awakened by the alarm-radio all seems as other yesterdays and the ebb of tide, your absence, the grains of sand beneath the foam, slowly, revealed. This now of morning asks for a response and I have none.
In the realm of nothingness there are no boundaries. Circumferences do not exist, there is no middle. Horizons are broad, never reached. The stillness frightens yet calmness abides. Unheard—harmonic sounds linger, echo-like, sensed as an undertow in an ocean's depth —a Siren's call. In the realm of nothingness there are no boundaries, It is a birthing place.