by Richard Vince

The moment between waking and sleeping
Is where the words hide, until
They are found by the perfect angle
Of the last rays of sunset.

So much was revealed to me in
So many hours I spent in this place,
But it has become an alien world
Like everywhere to which it formed
A tired yet youthful gateway.

Finding myself here again is
Like jetlag if it were made of
Years, the feeling of being divided
Between two different times while
Somehow remaining one.

The moment between waking and sleeping
Is not a moment, but an eternity
That lives behind my whole life,
The infinitesimal point at which
All the versions of me adjoin.


Posted on 11/08/2020
Copyright © 2021 Richard Vince

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