I'd like to describe

something

that doesn't exist. 

 

And by describing it

I am not bringing it into existence

These are just words on a paper

that replace 

and obscure my thoughts. 

 

It had straight, sharp edges

and the light falls diffusely 

on top of it. 

Sometimes it picks up

on forgotten hues

of the space it lives in. 

 

It is sitting on a bright corner

of an empty house,

discarded by a family,

or a lonely child. 

 

To the eyes it seems warm,

but it's cold to the touch. 

It might resemble an empty box,

but no one has put anything in it. 

 

It just sits there,

like me. 

But it waits,

something that doesn't have

the capacity to wait. 

 

I think of it once in a while. 

And sometimes it's blue,

But I think

it might be white. 

 

​

October 2017