in this place

between eclipse and equinox

there is zero gravity

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before now started

there was a certain weightedness

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planned routines

ritualed paths

weighted thoughts, articulate

well crafted pauses

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since now began there’s

the sense of being drawn-

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an animated character

in a beloved story, drawn out.

Danger here, but not much

in the beautiful line of perpetual today

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But there is a whisp, a

taste of discomfort like

the memory of rootedness

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the memory of solid illusion

of knowing what next. 

And then this,  and then.. what,  then?

Shouldn’t I be more….?

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But no. 

Not in the between time.

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Choices like onion skins that

veil the centre but follow its curve

each the result of the one before

covering more and more while

the sleeping centre

wants dark for its’ becoming

dark and wet and warming

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