My lover dwells in the liminal spaces —
the stretch of the shore where the tide touches sand;
in doorways she dances, on path’s edge, she paces —
and twilight’s the moment she’s ever at hand.
She straddles horizons and finds it essential
to take of the time neither quite day or night;
she lives for the crisp, cutting edge of potential,
the moment before sparks may kindle to light,
when the sky is ‘that color’ and birds are just waking;
in the breath before words when the song’s just begun;
in the moment before peak, almost coming, almost breaking;
in the pulse of the heart, the downbeat of the drum.
She stays awake late, talks for hours before sleeping,
cat-walks morning’s edge, so’s to stay in her dream,
and calls me to come back to the warmth of her keeping,
where ever she dwells in the places between.
