Between these black brown eyes

With their broken red and white halos

The no-thing finds the way

Today perhaps comes tears

Tomorrow perhaps something less dear

Each set of eyes that peers back

Between eggshell walls and window-seals

Could they know if the no-thing told them

He would hold their hands if he could

But this voice still claims to remember

Whispers to this heart

That the dew will soon freeze

On rot mottled apple skins

In grassy orchard bellows

That drink from the Mississippi

That same dying mother

Above which lies the bridge

My patients take to work

And still this heart breaks

In this city of Minneapolis

For young mothers

For old mothers

For their children

And for the woman

For whom this heart opens

To break once more

And this voice cries

Open no more then

Let the mind loom

Pulling the no-thing from this moment

Into a warm gray cloak

In this flash frozen desert

That the no-thing walks

Singing

Only the bowels know

In that forgotten recess of our spirit

Where the no-thing grew

And climbed forth towards this world

That the one I took myself to be

Built and deformed

Then released to be held

No longer an arm’s length away

But closer than the clenching of your guts

Or the furled wrinkles just lateral

To the any-colored eyes

That answer these silly questions

And accept these unskilled hands

And smile as this body tries

To take some of the suffering held

The no-thing gives thanks

Thanks to you

Thanks to them

Thanks to that which we flow through

That which we flow from

That which we are born of

That which we are

That which is all we can be

That which you and I claim to have once forgotten

That which is here

That which is now

Howling un-alone

And I look up from my screen

To mumble to my patient

Waiting for this voice to recede

Thank you for letting me take part in your care