Dreaming: What’s Void?

Quiet time,
Waiting for
Some new work
To come in,

Gentle breeze flows
Through the window,
Somebody whistling nearby,
High pitch colours the night;

Easy to think,
‘Everything is void,’
When it’s
Like this

But what’s thinking?
And who?
Can’t get that
Figured out.

Then irritation rises
In response to
That loud whistler
And attention turns one-pointed,

Yet,
That whistle is
Void
And that irritation too;

But what good does that do?
None at all, I expect,
So then, what the heck
Is the point of all that?

Can I see it now?
For there’s nowhere else I can,
Not sure
But perhaps that’s good.