twilight

negative space

I am at ease in the transitions,

in the twilights and the dawns,

the moments in between the x and the y;

as though I am only alive in limbo,

in the undefined.

I am, perhaps, at ease in the margins,

in the spaces between: when night has shed its nocturne,

but the day demurs, uncertain, biting her thumb;

or the sun has set and the world is open and raw,

the fingers of evening stroking at its neck.

the light shifts gently, incrementally,

lovers slowly pulling off clothes,

the sunshine slipping like a robe to the floor.

and so the world is naked but untouched, briefly,

an empty canvas.

into this I can place myself.

the unmapped and the nebulous --

a framework.

the last of the sun dripping through the trees.

I stretch out my hand: it spills though, spreading,

amorphous, patternless, pondlike.