In those lulls
that pool like
raindrops
after streaking fast
down a speeding car’s dash,
then welling into
trembling beads.
In those moments
when my spent
and potential energy are
equal as they
might ever be.
When it seems
the glaring sun
and the glowing moon
have precisely aligned
at gloaming.
When the pine-needled trees
have ceased whispering
as high winds
soften in the
nectarine evening.
In these spells
of nothing,
I ruminate
on everything,
convinced that we,
like wine, must
richen
over time-
That we
become
in the silent
in-betweens.
pm poetry 