The Lull

I have no weight,

no presence,

no truth,

no formality.

I am the space filling the lines;

a cliffhanger, untouched

a question mark, an

intermission,

a pause

waiting for more.

I am a concept

a singularity, an idea

make-believe,

flickering, floating

in the edges of your mind,

dancing the thin line of truth and lies.

I flitter in the corners of your eyes,

leaving marks stuffed with stardust and blurred things 

your brain knows to tuck

into the gaps,

to stuff into

the nooks.

Try to catch

me in the palm

of your hands.

Just a glimpse,

just a sight,

just

out

of

reach.

I am leaden, 

heavy,

sagging at the thick matter;

leaving imprints the size of pin pricks,

gasping at the divides.

Sucking at the tides.

I am the shining heat,

radiating from the burned sidewalks;

dragging the clouds

back down to Earth.

Renouncing them

to be like me.

A tuft

of something

caught on the sharp edge

of an intruder’s claws.

Never free.

I am a photo 

with the face torn out,

drifting off to sea.

I am a list of names

no different than the last,

only here and temporary.

A snapshot of a rejectee.

A recording on last night’s voicemail,

calling a stranger’s name:

Mary? Mary?

Forgive me,

My feet are sore

and they drag on the concrete

too tired for more. 

I was never here.

Leave a message after the beep.

A thin shriek.

Author's Note

I'm interested in interpretations of the meaning as well as the flow of the poem. Thanks!