Red Room Where the Writers Are

 

 in between

this is the time of in between 

a holding pattern circling

the wait  between dawn

and completion…          

there are days to settle    

quarter hours to walk

 in early darkness

light to grow accustomed to

 hidden currents to watch for

 anticipation

as we wait for evening’s rogue waves

outside this window…

there is another frame of time

to be reckoned with

while  farewells are forced

into the in between

passing time lays

paused on tongues

in mouths emptied of sufficent saliva…

we  tried to form our gratitude 

while silently deciphering an uneasy language  

not foreign to ear–only to necessity…

we try to  say it again

forming imperfect

in-between syllables left hanging

in air…

this is a time of in between

a search for a perfect salve

to heal old wounds

a search for imperfect words

leaning us toward redemption and

appropriate goodbyes…

and in between

lies our time

of in between

our time of

faith 

chance

memory

and retribution

watching now

for ways to ease

through what’s fitting

in between

 survival