The Diaphanous Library / new poems 2011

Collections Of Nothing

will all manner of things,
our collections of nothing,
keep death from the door

or do ravens
rest upon everything
arms cannot hold
at all, all at
once

their yellow eyes,
as a friend reminded,
distant, distracted

unimpressed
by the trappings
beneath talons

predisposed toward,
yet cynical of
even
their own survival

remembering Poe,
alone and dying,
with only
a pen, a needle, a tale

talismans one and all,
attached to meaning
someone else
will attach

after death
empties our hands
and folds them
in a final prayer