The art in capturing nothing

What words they were
what dreams
that floated between the bare walls
and brushed the spaces
that rejection left

and the promises
perched on the last crumb of ledge
waiting, always
for the nudge of breath
that turned a finely woven world
into the womb of contrition

someday, one day
when all has been said
and swept about
the memories wept around
maybe the glaring patches
littering faded walls will shine
brighter than the pictures ever could