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The In-Between

by John Grey


Dawn spreads the sheen

of paleness on the ocean,

exposes nuggets

in the hills.


Phantoms haunt the cusp

of night and day,

the ones thought lost

mingling dream and memory.


Their presence both salves and troubles

the exposed heart,

the rising blood,

the tongue half-a-whisper

from saying a name.

From my window,

I float toward the half formed figures,

fill in the details they have coming,

embrace the company

with eyes that do the work of arms

until light finally severs the living from the dead.


Day begins in earnest,

without a thought for me.