The Absence

If the birds ceased to chirp in the lazy morning light,
and outside the window lurked a stoic world of
suspended animation, you would question the validity of motion.
The same would go for gravity if you saw a flotilla of flowers
recklessly set sail on the invisible, tumultuous sea of air.
If all thoughts all of a sudden scurried away from the schoolyard
in your mind, you would undoubtedly be left selfless on a swing
made from nothing at all.
The same would go for feelings if you unleashed all
those nerve-fireflies from their ephemeral jars.

"The Absence" wears you like a suit sometimes
and then tosses you off.
There is nothing wrong with this act.
It is natural and customary.
We only think it's unnatural and perverse
when we erroneously assume "The Absence"
hides an agenda beneath the act.
Not so.
Everything is naked,
and then etched upon,
and then wiped clean.
What is there not to understand?