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  • Do the tears shed in an empty room
    collect in a gutter of despair
    or are they washed to sea through a catchment
    recycling hopes and disappointments?

    Do my cries in this empty room
    echo along ever-smaller vectors until silent
    or do they add to the chorus of human grief
    reverberating in our collective souls?

    Perhaps the room is not empty
    or not even a room at all.
    Perhaps the light that surrounds me
    passes through the boundaries that define this moment.

    And in my despair I have mistaken
    the empty chair for an absence of presence
    forgetting that in the negative space
    is the hope beyond seeing at the edges of what can be seen.
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