Disappearance: Here and Not Here

February thirteenth,
Such an odd number;
Day before Valentine’s,
How appropriate;

Some people give and receive cards and gifts,
And pair up for romantic encounters;
Others pine about being on their own
And then there are those who ignore it all together.

But this poetic discourse
Is but alphabet soup:
It cannot exist
In your absence,

For then how
Could there be
Any relationship or dialogue
Upon which to base the meaning?

Without interchange
There is no sense
But even with all the talk
That’s ever been

There is no final word.
But still if all the words
Should come to an end
There would be no conclusion.

What if the dialogue itself
Is the message?
If so, no need to look between the lines
As the lines are also it;

But this too could be just foolishness;
As soon as you believe in it, it becomes meaningless,
As is every word before and after;
And then there’s nothing left to do
But shake with laughter.