Concentric Nothings

Let my touch

Be indistinct

And instinctive

Let my glance

By passer by

Let my system

Swallow its own

System

Let my breath

Move outward

In concentric

Nothings

Let it carry

The news

Let my motion

Be expansive

Let my limits

Be as atmospheres

And bracken

Let my decadence

Be candid

Let my wanting

Be scentless

We had touched

As only

Atmospheres touch