It is an absent space.

A contradiction.

Paper flowers with glassy countenance

Are peeling away on the mirrors of the sky.

Your silence becomes mine in this city.

Can you feel without that crutch

That you have called poetry?

Bleed unto me.

Your words can heal your wounds.

And we shall find life again,

Painting stars in this empty sky

Where the paper flowers are crying out

For a lost home.