Zero in Tarmac

The xenon sweeps across, around
the pustulent black shine
photons skittering the rough
acute, above and advanced
the tarmac becomes zero ocean.

I find this unsettles the mind
so it engages in *poor me
so cold, I am*   I am.
This is a cold, harbouring beauty
and I do not want to see it.

The bus slumbers in, gladly
I ascend the shape, movement
all about that I know.
No zero. No solitary suction
of simple shared wave-eye
alone.
I wrap my hands, gloved
in gloves, in cross-arms
in huddled in cold.
The null in cold will pass.