The Empty View
after a photograph by Peter Shefler
by Michael Escoubas

But is it really all that empty?
In the midst of what some view as emptiness
I think about crowds on city streets
the toxic exhaust in air
the blare of horns, the fights in streets
I think about the incessant flow of information
the overkill of verbiage.
I think about the irrepressible avalanche
of TV images, how they wither my senses
the talking heads who wobble and bobble.

How I love the austerity of ice-blue trees
shadowed in moonlight
the serenity of the scene
the precision of the room cut and hewn
in the cold night air
I come here to rest and think and pray
within this empty view
somehow
my soul is filled, restored to full
that I might reenter the world distilled.



 

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