But there is no mud, 

The lake is a gelid film of nothing, 

Faint smudges of shadow 

That betray no sun nor time of day, 

That dare us make 

The objects mean anything. 

The photographer makes much of 

Found meanings―again 

Random glints, glitter of water, 

Quiver of memory―

From you and me. 

But what makes them viable or 

Visible, in such a thin 

Space, an inert, starless universe? 

Ah, but their provenance provides 

Some sort of finitude to their 

Boundlessness: 

Rockanje, a village in the Netherlands, 

Surnamed Sticks.

Middle name Empty.

 

 

Marne Kilates

21 March  2022; rev. 1 May 2022