Liminal Spaces

 
 
 
Twilight, the wee hours,
the dark of the moon,
liminal spaces,
places where magic dwells,
crossroads, crises, cusps.
 
There is static on the radio.
A song
my voice was singing,
rhythm of sound
takes flight to surround me,
a comforter of down
to ease my soul.
 
I’ve been trying to define a taste,
a sense of bittersweet and salt.
I’ve been trying to find a trace
a footprint in the desert,
a sight, a scent,
a memory.
I’ve been trying to discern a trace of me,
a piece to fit the puzzle,
my contribution to the grand design.
Seeking in shadows,
the space between
myth and matter,
those places words
cannot define.
On those insubstantial plains
of myst and awe,
the stuff of dreams,
threshold of wonder,
creation is spawned.
.
.
.
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