3/3/11

The winter’s twilight, edging into spring,

Blue skies shine warmth on vacant, waking lands.

The mingled sights of dead and fertile things,

The nothing-just-before is now at hand.

The air holds neither promise nor withdrawal.

The season, neither thrives nor languishes.

The stillness hangs, like some unanswered call.

A lover’s face, unmoved, expressionless.

Within this never time, I wait and roam,

Awake, yet melting, as in fleeting dreams,

A held breath just before a note intones,

Not here nor there, but halfway in-between.

And strangely, I’m at peace, so paralyzed,

And caught betwixt tomorrow and before,

Somehow both living and yet, not alive,

Love in my heart for things which live no more.