Poem #2,758 | A small hollowing

A small hollowing of every
moment when not in love –
one of those tin globes-as-
a-bell for yuletide dressing
or a rolling toy – ball within
ball – it is now contained in
space – my distance is held
as time tumbles [existence
a count of nothings] – Fool-
kisses amount to less – our
wide-cast bids to espy love
find us empty nets – pull in
& throw again – hope’s line
will rub between fingering
[& I will sink into that void]