Night Falling

We pass from water to air through
the pause, before the go, a cusp.
Then, a chan­nel to the open world,
like the crack­ing of a nut,
and time­less starts counting.

But what about “before”?
We move, I‘ll say it again, nowhere, from less than,
to, per­fect zero, and then relent­less, un-mattering
count­ing: moments, the days. Each count­ing,
a reminder of our sep­a­rate­ness: this day then that;
this moment, not that.
It would be too much, the crush­ing lone­li­ness, but for
the reminders, like you son, that we pass not from
the day to night; we live and move from light
to light.