through the paper walls
of mr nothing’s place
the poet could hear
a neighbour reciting
kaddish for an atheist
and thought of his father
he had never mourned
he barely remembered
the abandoned fishing rods
and the moonshine bottles
or even that plastered hole
in the bathroom door
punched with a naked fist
for not shaking hands
and there were words
some unspoken others
shouted out or tried not to
in all souls’ day though
these were recited
by mr nothing
born out of them
hidden pilcrow 