The Interstices of Time

The Interstices of Time

Time's world is porous.
One may slip between the fabric weaving,
journeying upon the back of art and music,
poetry and meditation,
and the offering of love.
It is transition in a paradox
of peace-filled paroxysm
faith would not accommodate.
Then just beyond, the spirits gather
for a welcome that exceeds imagining.
There the past and future laugh
at their deception, vanishing like smoke.

Come to the marrying
of fear and celebration,
the collision of realities
we never sorted out.
It's over there a bit,
where mornings never yield
to resting suns, and yesterdays
that know not how to say goodbye.

The pathways lie within your dreams
but far outside as well.
and all penultimate
to that grand boulevard that we forsake
with each device of breath
and one insensitive laconic label,
death.

~