POEM: A Poem About Nothing

Today the specifics
have vanished, 
Impossible to reach
by brain or by train, 
and yet strangely
the impulse remains
to play and to mean
to rise and to rouse – 
spirit with no body to house,
desolate desert wind
that still whistles 
to the disappearing moon,
tossing and catching, 
asking – 
Are you here?
Do you hear?
With no news to share.

Something may have died
but something else is still
alive. 

Photo by Taryn Elliott from Pexels

I welcome your thoughts: