vacuum of tears

a vacuum of tears,

in a wallow so vast,

that space has no occupancy of worth.

words with bouquets of meaning

come forth to kneel at the entry.

pray for some sense of access.

petals die in the waiting process.

deliberation admits,

there is no such thing as time,

yet shadows as bystanders lengthen.

stories admit to their fabric of lies.

curtains open to no other side.

creation rests on its insistence of laurels.

the sight of gold and the breath of kudos

became a vacant passing glint.

and a thought is launched for utterance's sake,

yet the moment is fragile then broken 

into nanoseconds, shattering mightily 

on the resounding absence of time.

how to exist,

in a vacuum of tears,

in a wallow so vast

and cling unto meaning

as if as a buoyancy of passage . . .