I feel my unconsciousness works its way
into the predawn darkness,
the time between or the slash dividing,
connecting night and morning,
leading into the too long too short day.
Coffee, tea—allowed in this in-between,
alcohol—no, unless the night is still on from a few hours ago
and the push to prolong the inevitable is the mission of a lonely heart.
My mission: to claim the silence for myself.
This in-between is my territory now, fleeting and fickle as it always is.