The wind shuffled a full deck of leaves, each of them blank.
Imagine what to do with carte blanche: how you’d furnish
your rooms, the many-leaved days, nights dusky as blackboards
chalked over with dreams— And I’m sure I’d love blanc-
mange, sweet rolls, strong coffee for brunch, the hours blank
as new linen, duty shoring up the banks— And how sweet
to be able to start, mess up, do it over again; fill in blanks
that were missed the first time around. Nothing left vacant,
no stone left unturned; no check voided, gone bad, or returned
for want of funds: the empty hull pleasing as its original shape.
In response to Via Negativa: Of two minds.