A Pome a Day for a Year

These pages are empty,
letters tumbled somewhere,
I did try looking under the cushions
but just found a bit of dust and some peanuts.

A page without words is
a remnant, willing to breathe,
awaiting new life to populate
and present the world again.

These pages had that and somehow,
the words have lost themselves,
they prop up empty confusion,
flap idly in the breeze while
curious stares search for a new meaning.

This was not invisible ink,
I saw those letters yesterday,
and the punctuation! It was there
and it said what I needed it to.

I am so confused. Can holding the book
on the edge, cause gravity to pull
those statements into the ether?
Like cries in the wind?