Nada, Nada, Nada, Nada, Nada, Nada, and again Nada

Nada, Nada, Nada, Nada, Nada, Nada, and again Nada

For some sets,
emptiness
makes them whole.
The line between all and nothing
is thin as a laser-level line
as firm as Cantor's dust
as solid as Serpienski's gasket
as clear as the absolute length of the shoreline
as bounded as the shell of a cloud.

That's all you can know about it.
That's all you need to know about it, except--

the line between all and nothing
is the only line.
Everything sits on one side
or the other.
And closer to the boundary
is closer to the heart of all.

[080210-2//010606]

This was very nearly a before and after.  Only problem is, I'm not sure I'm at the after I want to be at before going there.  But this is a poem that needed extensive pruning and it appears even in this version that the pruning may not be done--I've got the outline of the topiary, but I need to adjust a few outliers.