Dear ethereal nothing
Having become rather fond of never
You will find me in an aching muscle dream
The kind which lasts no more than fog
And clears like eyes with only blinks
Observe my lostness if you must
Find in it an ounce of head turn on my behalf
Or not, regardless
Look around and see this hollow earth
These steady hands which know no more of thought
Than your heart of dose of sound
A letter wish this also reads
But just in case your ethereal being has yet been freed
I end this lay and say lay down my pen
Addressing this to the cosmos through
And to no one in particular, this
I still do