Emptiness is everything,
exist and you are owned.
If I could step out of my body,
burst into bloom
I would be a horse or a wolf
empty but for instinct.
At the end my father became an owl
his eyes filled with the sadness of wisdom.
I do not know what became of my brother.
His ending remains a mystery,
a faint familiar scent from across the fields
where dogs and children run.
I do not know my mother
in time she may look up to see the stars
My own flowering came years ago
the bloom is gone now.
In its place there is fullness,
childhood my refuge,
emptiness a dream.