As if nothing or perhaps something else it was.
What else could I have on me to settle your heart?
Could it be the feeling?
What could I think?
Which beast should I tame first?
As if the nothing of the sound escaped my mind
Or my voice, if it were a concern of yours.
But then, what then?
What else could I have asked,
apart form the sole spit of hours you think of me?
When nothing is what you know,
how can you fell the allness
when I stumble and muter all the lack of reason to know you.
Nothing it is. Nor is it something.
In between lies the thin slice of whatever you call it.
Even when it is always among something –
the name keeps unnamed.
One just feels it
As if nothing or something else it is.