Wildfire Smoke

From nothing comes nothing.
But nothing is powerful, they have learned this.
The empty space that defines where something is.

Defined by negatives, they nevertheless know themselves.
Less strong, less clever, less brave, less loud,
Less rational, less learned, less daring, less wealthy.
The inheritors of every vice, exiles from every virtue.

They live in the waste spaces, the margins:
Alleyways, warehouses, basement bars,
Empty hair salons, unlit street corners,
Power stations, wastewater treatment plants,
The far corners of an arboretum.

Power comes on a crepuscular schedule.
Bleeds through in the grey light of dawn, of dusk
When boundaries blur and multiply, figure becomes ground
Shadows become objects, objects shadows
And all cats are grey.

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