Take this nothing,
Carefully collected from the inside of rings
And the spaces between the spokes of your gypsy wagon.
Line up this nothing,
Make it make sense;
Set it under different arches, at different times of day.
Nothing fills the Rue de Rien--
I become a shadow,
Reaching through myself, amazed.
Nothing in your hands when I waited by myself.
Nothing on your lips when I listened unto death.
Throw open all the doors,
Let the horseman pass--
Take back this gift of nothing, dear,
And shove it up your ass.