Whole 


There’s a hole in the roof

and the stars are shining through.

There’s a hole in my shoe, 

sand rubbing on my right foot.

There’s a hole in the bucket 

dear Liza dear Liza

and a place to empty, 

a place to fill.
Sometimes emptiness

is a place, a presence that calls 

for attention, calls as clear as a bell,

a baby crying, the ping of a text from your one true love.
Sometimes emptiness

is a silence, an absence of

call. No ping, no singing

bell, no cry.
Take the sound and no sound,

the presence and absence,

put them together and there

is the whole, the whole thing, 

the stars shining through,

the grit on the foot,

the feeling that everything 

will pour out of the bucket 

and it does. 
It makes you want to cling

to that imperfect bucket,

just to feel the constancy,

the breathing motion

of empty and full.

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