If zero had a color it would be white -
sitting at the heart of the whole numbers spectrum
shedding all color from thereafter.
There is a strange sadness in watching love
dissolve into thinning days
as it abandons the soul
it has known to be home.
Forgetting finds existence in silence
like the pensive gaps in a poem.
It has a weightless feel
like poem endings
like zero
like corollas of red rose delicately nudged
by the wind trailing on a pond.
Forgetting is white -
white endless.
sitting at the heart of the whole numbers spectrum
shedding all color from thereafter.
There is a strange sadness in watching love
dissolve into thinning days
as it abandons the soul
it has known to be home.
Forgetting finds existence in silence
like the pensive gaps in a poem.
It has a weightless feel
like poem endings
like zero
like corollas of red rose delicately nudged
by the wind trailing on a pond.
Forgetting is white -
white endless.
