we proceed from empty wine glasses to decanters
an excess of neither optimism nor pessimism
but a promise that demands
for the glass to be empty
that our sounds reverberate inside its curves
that our encounters fossilize on its lips.
not an empty promise, but a promise of emptiness;
the declaration of god’s nothingness at dusk;
the cycles of the moon
the unfaltering response when the tide rises and falls
covering, then unveiling and leaving
a simple, silky sweep of sand
on wasted riverbanks
this is how we proceed
to appear always absent by having been
and always promising to be again.