You keep your emptiness in a strange box of words.
(I hope to open it one day.)
Because, I would like to.
Because of all the things that are made out of words,
the box that holds you or your emptiness is the most special.
Could it also be something, anything, in addition?
This is what your box tells me.
It is looking after your emptiness.
It is like saying I am a cloak for it.
Being a cloak it is also a synonym. A synonym for hiding.
(Your emptiness is a synonym for in-hiding.)
Well I’m lonely. I’m talking into my box hoping
holding out for hope that I’ll connect to you.
What is it you used to say?
If you look for me too much you will miss me.
What about the opposite? What about overlooking?
If I trip on the steps to your room.
You’re like a black box that holds a lot.
While things are playing… while there are people here
I may have my car radio on or my tunes on my pc on
my favorite songs on… everything ON
I have no doubt that your box is a music box. It is special.
I will wind it up and a ballerina jump out.
Jack in the box. If I turn it upside down and shake it,
what will your box do for me? Will it be loyal?
Will it/you fall out? Are you like a box of cereal?
Will there be a prize at the center? A secret ring, decoder?
(I am apparently thinking of other ways to unwind you now.)
I appreciate your invisibility. Volcano. Box. Volcano.
I learned a lot about volcanoes, about their boxes.
I learned they don’t erupt often, even after many years.
Sometimes they just smolder.
A box inside a volcano, what would that be like?
A fruit box, banana box. Something hard, wonderful.
Your box is a box of wood at the bottom of a great hill.