Matthew Nienow

The Return

Here I am again,
staring out the window,

watching nothing
in particular happen

to the trees. I hear
a raven make

from nothing
a sound like a drop

of water—that
sound falling


into the cavern
of my brain.

How does one aim
toward nothing

without tripping
into nihilism?

I banished the drink
in order to live.

I returned
to myself

by making room
for nothing.

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