Interval (Poetry)

I hover in that gap between sleeping and waking —
one foot in each uncertain land —
the void is singing — moving rhythmically its sea-grey currents
soaping up the smooth old rocks
and no one else is listening. It’s music all for me.

This is my space — I’ve claimed it for a time —
an interval marked by the tides that run
and serve two countries —
a dark one with its mists
strange and fragrant with unconscious storms —
while the other brightens — lures and shows white cliffs
familiar as a smile.

I hesitate a moment longer — loathe to leave
all that’s dark behind me and move on —
the temptation to loiter — contemplate — malinger here
                                for always is so strong —
limbs make believe they’re lead — stuck fast and stubborn
for all dull thought’s persistent tugging —
until the muddy night suddenly lets go and shocked by change
I shake off sloth and pick my way along
the thin chill edge of morning’s real
uncompromising coastline.