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By Igor Goldkind

There’s an emptiness at the heart of any contained space:
The air that fills a dome; an unanswered echo.
There’s an emptiness in my heart
That reminds me that
All of my ideas are empty:
The floating leaves from a fumbled folder.
Merely papers littering the sky.

This emptiness reminds me
How light and flimsy my desires really are and
How gently they fall from the sky
A confetti of mercy and good intentions.
Shreds of emotions,
That are in the end, Compared to Nothing,
Merely litter from my mind.

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