it is in the space between breaths

it is between each and every step

it’s in the moment before the tornado touches down

and it dances and prances the moment

you shut off the light

at bedtime every night

it is the pause before the next attacking wave

or the tremble of a leaf before it decides to fall

it is there before you step on the gas and go

while it whispers its stories unkind

when you shut off the light

at bedtime every night

it is the minutes before the rising of the sun

and the second you realize he is gone

it is the moment of silence at the grave

between salvos of a 3-gun salute

and your insomnia at night

in the absence of light

it is New Tear’s morning, new year’s mourning,

the first Christmas after the kids have gone away

an empty house once filled with children

a closetful of clothes with no one to show them to

that make noises at night

in your room without light

it is an early morning coffe shop

and empty, idle conversation

or the one place without distractions

in a world pathetically

shining a lonely light

through omnipotent night

it is make up and a shining smile

or the warbly voice of a pop star

or the assumption you deserve that prize

and the knowledge you’ll never win

it’s there when you shut off the light

no matter how you polish it white

it’s deep inside the cracks sprouting in your mind

and ticking and tocking the minutes away

it’s a world of empty hands and hearts

and a proud collection of lies

to light you up right

at bedtime every night

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