Between

For days I’ve been waiting to lean back in my chair

and sink deep into the bottom until I fall through a hole,

traveling nowhere, remembering everything.

So often, I am at the edge of my seat,

anxiously shaking my leg,

in the slow but furious

act of completion.

Most days

without thought

the end of one thing

is the beginning of the next.

Let me be suspended in between

what I have done and will do in the future,

savoring the emptiness of my thoughts,

which sum the past into the present,

every self I’ve ever worn,

aggregated into the

silent now.