Cusp between days
Threshold of hours
meeting point of
yesterday and tomorrow
Across where you are, you’ll see,
We’ll meet where the sun meets the sea.
Like thread through a spread
of cloth coloured deep blue,
our fingers will weave through
the fabric of the Pacific, riding
the rise and fall and roll and
crash of waves that slip
into the palm of the shore.
Where changing sands mark the distance
between here and where you are–
where the ocean ends and expands.
It will come to a point when the seasons no longer define our timelines
We will gather in vases the bloom of fallen leaves in autumn
We will wade through the waves with snowflakes whispering in our ears
We will come to know moments instead of counting hours
And splitsecond kisses will sustain us year after year after year
The thoughts ran faster than the words could
arrange themselves neatly in line. Properly
waiting to nod their heads
at the end of the sentences.
So I rearrange them again.
And in carefully placed punctuations
and calculated silences between syllables,
I fold myself silently. Breaking
into shards and splinters
so that in the gaps where the thoughts are unsaid
pieces of me could slip in quietly,