Antipathy

The pose is struck.  The poet is shot.  The trigger is pulled first
in the mind before the finger.  In the feeling before the thought,
in the nightly lack where there is nothing where there is ought.
Lamps without bulbs, switches with no effect, the house illuminates
with imagined possibilities as simple as shining soft – electricity.  Glow
instantly revealing brighter colors than could otherwise be seen.  The silence
seems to listen, so it's spoken to.  Troves of secrets and heartfelt wordless
sense of absence.  Nothing, neither voice nor memory, speaks back.
The silence never existed, but you could have never known that.