Her Time

This is that time barely-there fog dims finities

inside the ivy-walled border   absolute clarity

 

Lit fog on an upper gate-arc edge

under falls of branchlets on the verge

you go through   go beyond

into what air-density makes remote

 

Uncanny   that sense of it   the in-between of it

was – is   long ago – now

born in your body

 

while inside the outside

migrants seed-picking between the cracks

proclaim not dying   not not dying