empty

when empty is abandoned it endures, 
it does not rot or die or bleed or cry for warmth of tender touch 
for emptiness is but one piece and has never known cut, 
to fill is just to shift, from jar to jar it jumps 
from palm it flees to wrap round fist and when in mind so comes the thump. 
its what is left when all is stripped, when promise slips its but its sum 
it is what is and is as was before this is begun 
there is no running from it, 
for it's through what we would run 
its constant is of comfort, and so of it I'll become 
this empty is my love, 
alas, 
the only one.