The Empty Text

Not the null set, not the blank
Page or screen. Not the mindless
Or artless passage of words.

The endless passage of waves,
The oceanic basket,
The collected works of us,

The moving stories that
Can’t reach their conclusions
Once they admit there are none,

The poems of fine-worked details,
Intimate, imagistic,
Innovative, entangling

Still more waves, more collections.
Languages distill wreckage.