There is a shimmer,

a tremor,

in that vacuum

between the rise

of the light,

and the lifting of the veil.

There is a stilling

of the air,

and a calming

of atmosphere,

In the breaths held

before dawns break.

The old early riser,

and the young go-getter,

both feel

the space,

between restfulness

and wake.

There is a prismatic

shift, between abject

nothing and

colorfulness,

waiting in the

gap unseen.

The vivid extreme

that exists, in

the chasm

between reality

and dream,

everyone knows.

There is a flutter,

a pumping and

thumping in the heart,

and a pulse in the mind

between waiting,

and actioning.

There is a pause

between the

thunder, and lightning

that is the

anticipation,

of everything.

 

On that shore,

waiting for

the dark tide

to subside,

and the bright sun

to shine,

with our feet still

damp, and our backs

still warming,

we are in both worlds,

but belonging to

neither.

 

When we stand

near the haze,

pause, breath in

and smell,

the petrichor

after the rain.

When we are

struggling, straining,

and finally,

blinking in light

when emerging from our caverns

of oblivion.

 

This is the place, this is the state, and this when, we find our true selves.

 

Humbly yours,

J