Who would I be if I were empty?
a clear glass vase glittering the light
an open window bare to breeze and scent
a newly built nest hollowed in down
a white sheet of paper spread beneath the pen
a newborn’s eyes slowly widening
a freshly made bed, covers turned
a painted canoe tapping against the pier
a field in black folds, newly churned
an empty stone tomb awash with morning sun,
and the buried one within—gone missing.