Waves, storms, voices,
everything withdraws
to Zero:
the null vast enough
to hold all things,
Zero blooming
as infinity.
Only those voices remain
that learn to speak
after silence
has sealed the gates,
gesture without motion,
speech without sound,
the statue
that breathes.
Motion flings itself outward,
yet is drawn back inward,
centrifugal,
centripetal—
until even effort
lets go.
