What to do about nothing

The feelings the images that come to mind A memory A vision of a place you’ve never been. Use thine eye To see the echoes of another’s voice within A feeling of this. An image, what does it contain? A memory, why arisen? In the branches and palace crystalline thy memories beheld, A thread to now with what tatters—silent—to mind does creep And does that mind perceive it? Chatter chatter oh demon thought See, say, opine, and be blind! While the mistress goes neglected... As within so without. Listen—pull and reap—let this moment bloom from roots of the past. Can a whole be seen from its piece? Or the end from the beginning? Whetherwise, from an unknown piece is sprouted a strange whole, whose parts fulfill the one who sows.