What could I say?
What sound on or off the blue-green Earth could I possibly utter?
What string or stream of words or combination of statements, questions, or figurativeness could I write for the circumstances?
There are none.
Is there some kind of gesture I could extend?
Adjust the degree of warmth or cold in my interactions?
Would that matter?
The answer is also no to either of those.
Maybe if I sought change for myself. Or if I chose nothing but silence.
Would things be different then?
An enveloping vacuum of no’s.
When a mind is made up–no matter the nature of enlightenment, ignorance, or brainwashing that got it there–it lays down beneath the daisies.