The absence of color,
Born into chasm,
Outstretches its wiry arms,
Elbows buckling, cracking,
under the bulk
of converging tectonic plates.

This absence…
this severed molecule…
How detached it seems from the known continuum,
How it drifts across the fabric of space time,
Paralyzed in orbit,
Deafened by quietness,
Swaying to the ill-conceived tempo of ringing silence,

Negative space on a defunct canvass,
This absence….
Meddlesome and absorptive,
This blurred image,
This dulled, broken set of headlights,
Forever muddling the uncertainties of forgetful men,
Who half-heartedly rinse the muck from the coarse bristles of
soiled brushes