its not a letter. is it empty. is it. thin or solid. are there small pores for air to travel through. can those holes.
dust accumulates. the invisibility of a substance, its emptiness. through another emptiness,
'the fine dust of words' to accumulate emptiness, to sweep nothingness into a pile.
to wash the nothingness off my feet after a long walk. emptiness is water soluble.
waves of what, of nothingness? of emptiness? carrying along what. a separate nothing?
but i feel what they bring me, it is not a number. it is on the other side of the emptiness, less than it.
the sun shares its emptiness with me, to be held by an invisibility, a nothing.
to bath, to gaze, to watch.
she walked over to it, barefoot. the slate and moss wet, glinting white. a pebble edge lapping, shooing the nothing particles to sleep. her foot beneath an edge of nothing, cold black emptiness. on its surface, a flat circle, undulating, rippling from invisible changes. glowing, holding its shape, its own gravity and mass. its changes even more invisible, even emptier.