The object/which does not exist

                Zbigniew Herbert

Take away the pen
now there’s just
thought where once
ink and metal
a tool
to write nothing
 
There is no hand
to hold the pen
there are no words
to materialize
and say ‘I want’ or
‘look’ or ‘come to me’
 
All the time in the world
takes refuge
in the object which
doesn’t exist
 
How many poems
float in
lost memory
the voice that doesn’t
say ‘it doesn’t matter’
 
There’s an empty space
in the object
that doesn’t exist
throw into it
what you want
to get rid of
especially the stuff
that can’t be seen
the most difficult
to obliterate
 
your fear of strangers
your fear of love
your fear of desire
with its glitter
and greed and
blindness