Am I between?
Reams of white waiting to be touched by colour.
The ink of souls, a screen with the word ‘Title’
Asks to frame a life in a question and answer.
The stroke of a brush, seeking to speak
What cannot be said with the few words humanity grasps at.
The twang and twinge of a string strung across wood
Nailed ungracefully, chimes take symphonic stock
Of days and nights where empty and full are nothing and everything
We are between.
We want to know who and why we are, and all we are is breath
Between life and death.