Synthetic

When I came back

My empty hands

Were of the travel

Promising

          I pushed the panel

          Of a green window in peace

          Of a doorway to my self

          And the panel allowed the push

          There was no ladder

          No descent or flight

          In my empty hands

          All I found was a dance

When I came back

I clapped my hands of the empty

To give that awaiting dance

Its harmony

July 7, 2014

© Vahé Kazandjian, 2014