Empty

It was empty, that
small cleft in the
rock;
it was empty, that
morning, that day.
The only presence,
silent, a
few cloth strips,
stained;
the only presence,
moving, the
dust particles
filtered by
the sun,
floating, pulsing from the
life created from
death,
the life created from
nothing, from
the emptiness in the
small cleft in the rock.

As in the beginning…