Outlined in Black

Outlined in black – pink, purple, blue –
nothing is implied by white, and most of her
is white, and here you are inveigling
her nonentity into relationship with you –

angelically, perhaps, she’s singing – or she’s
crying – or she’s yelling at the emptiness –
from emptiness: a silence swelling

over, out of, into nothing. You’ve left out all

her stuffing. And yet she has a kind of crack
and class – a smack of something slightly sweet
and crisp and well-behaved: the sort of muse
who, once she’s slaved her way into

your heart and mind, might find a way
to help you contemplate your final act – and art –

your Phoenixhood – aroused state of being
arising like that famed and fabulous bird,

reborn from the ashes of all earlier lives.
Something like this gapes and flutters, strives
in you – silent, beseeching, a void, cartoon view –
outlined in black – pink, purple, blue.

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