To live always between two places,
pulled, moving back and forth
in our minds--the old place, the place of rain
falling down upon us, where memories swell,
and that new place, where sunlight burns
the skin 'til we blister
and our eyes are dazzled by
looking forward to all matter of possibilities.
To live within that in-between, like a trench between mountain and field,
seeking left and right in the gray skies
then standing still to breathe. Listening--
for what? The wind?
This lonely basin, this never-place, this now
looking back at rain, looking forward at sun
and feeling silence simmer on our searching brow.