by John P. Kristofco

before morning finds me,
in the time between its tick and tock,
something in my dream relents,
and I am moved into the space
between two worlds,
balanced in the middle of the seesaw,
weightless in the ether
before Wilbur's hunks and colors
claim eyes and ears
to do their bidding in the sixteen-hour universe,
captive til I fall
into the ocean of the midnight sphere
to wander once again
with whatever other senses it commands

Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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