Excavate

There was a time you made up one hundred percent of my mind. But unfortunately, I forgot to keep a penny for my thoughts.

The topography of my mind is illegible now. It’s been water-stained. No such destination exists now.

I wonder about the jaggedness of every other space.

Thoughts of you. Those empty-handed excavations left people with figments of what could have been there, what was so essential to hold that space.

You would not think life could survive here—this bare plain. But something lived here once.

So frigid. Still. Once there was life here. What use is that now?

Nothing remains here: besides the space I once saved for you.

Endless rumors of this anomaly remain.

The truth is a specimen would not make up the difference. Therefore, it is better to embrace its nonexistence.

Here we are. Can that not be enough; To know that there’s life on rocks.

You would not think life could survive here. But something lived here once.

So frigid. Still. Once there was life here. What use is that now?