NOTHINGNESS
Leaves fall in two and threes.
Where do they go
as the wind pushes them
down a deserted street?
No one will grieve.
As they disintegrate,
I walk the lake’s edge,
and watch a crow,
circle over my head.
Waves break against stones,
and it’s as if I can
hear their moans.
I gaze at nothing.
That’s what my mind sees.
The crow lands in a tree.
He doesn’t bother with me.
He’s unperturbed.
He’s an unknown,
so I leave him alone,
and I simply walk home.
George Freek’s poetry has recently appeared in The Ottawa Arts Review, Acumen, The Lake, The Whimsical Poet, Triggerfish and Torrid Literature.
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