I build absence from this room's air
Reading suppositions in summer's snarled script off the varnished floor.
Hey, that looks like a man.
That snag is his hand waving goodbye.
Small birds (sparrows or finches perhaps) chirping there, chattering.
The window  is closed.

I'm in search of a wormhole.
That leads to a parallel world.
Where paradise is not a syndrome.

But don't mind me now,
For I am AnnOnymous. :)