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The Luminous In-Between

By Cynthia Leslie-Bole

the portal
is the moment
where mind opens
and what's real rushes in

the nubbly sidewalk
the tarry parking lot
the cars blithely
maneuvering into slots
then suddenly
the bird
the crow
the huddled bundle of feathers
parked in a too-huge space
delineated by very straight
white lines
the stalled crow
blue-black sheen
dulled with dust
toes curling around asphalt
instead of branch
life flickering on and off
in a body remembering flight
in a voice echoing
lost morning warbles

the homeless man
the busy woman
gather to witness
the body heaving
the beak opening
the tongue darting
the lids drawing
opaque curtains across
obsidian eyes
as cars cruise by
with AC on high

time collapses
to one still point
the black hole of crow
in holy retreat
of spirit from flesh

I am the woman
watching
with impotent compassion
I am the vagrant
shrugging
with philosophical detachment
I am the bird
feeling life wane
choosing not to struggle
letting what's next begin
I am the white lines
containing it all

I am
breath
no breath
and the luminous
in-between