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