THE WORLD IS EMPTY from James Goertel ushers out yet another October.
THE WORLD IS EMPTY
The world is empty.
I read a poem I wrote twenty years ago
and cannot recognize the face looking back at me
in the yellowed mirror.
Memories are lies we kiss flush on the lips.
The women in my life have held the world
upon their shoulders
while I have sat in cold rooms
trying to make sense
of a string of Octobers
where I have fallen, faltered
in the long shadows of a sun spinning away.
The world is empty
despite my best efforts
to pour into it a man’s years of foraging for the words
to fill it with more than reconciliation.