Criterion 7:
A Chronic Perception of Emptiness

Between my shadowed view
and the sunlit shapes you grasp,
lies the border to our visions.
We are only interpreting
reflections that divide us,
trading allusions of illusions,
reporting faces versus cups.
If we were in the moment as you wish,
making no judgments,
both of us could see the ink blots
as the meaningless things they are.
But, I do see
a Dalmatian on a dappled lawn.
I have edge-detectors.
I know well the unfilled arc of nothingness
that you say really isn’t there.
Of your view, I see only half-shaped hints
distorting the curtain
that shrouds my borderland.