the peepers' and the crickets’ songs.
It is spring, this one day
between the lilacs and the lupines.
Here, there is a lifetime between
asking and receiving.
It is agony, the time
between blossom and seed.
In this darkness, there is one moment between
passion and ambivolence.
The moment may stretch hours,
days, even years.
But time folds like the edges of paper
brought together ready to crease.
There is no thing, no space, no breath
between falling in love
and crashing into hate.