Was at the art
museum looking
watching feeling
the colors textures
the walls, the
cases–glass boxes—  
filled with created
ideas birthed by
hands and tools
metal glass stone
beauty made from
nothing more than
what was there
when nothing was
there

I looked at Rothko
Warhol Klee
Rauschenberg
de Kooning …
thought how unafraid
how secure in
empty space how
large and spare
areas weren’t;
frightening—too
empty too much
nothing—all things
that pushed me
away from thinking
from applying

I am thinking now
of my art; of small
and large of
emptiness as a
means to fullness
of leveraging the
weight (simple
heaviness) of the
void left by my
fear…and I feel
my nakedness, my
inabilities crowding
but the emptiness
beckons and calls
me out.

A canvas stares
back at me

waiting