Unholy Sonnet 4

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Amazing to believe that nothingness 
Surrounds us with delight and lets us be, 
And that the meekness of nonentity, 
Despite the friction of the world of sense, 
Despite the leveling of violence,
Is all that matters. All the energy
We force into the matchhead and the city 
Explodes inside a loving emptiness.

Not Dante’s rings, not the Zen zero’s mouth, 
Out of which comes and into which light goes, 
This God recedes from every metaphor, 
Turns the hardest data into untruth,
And fills all blanks with blankness. This love shows 
Itself in absence, which the stars adore.

© Mark Jarman