On that threshing hold, night between a day,
Unwalled, unroomed, space among our way,
Holy Janus, two faces, a squeezed lemonade,
The dawn of our creation forms us in a shade
Everything changes, we step within the path,
What happens happens would shape us lath,
Flows thru us, on us beyond shall never past,
A bold new you, with us touching free at last
It feels a little different, cold air of possibility,
Just as a thin gown slides down us into a sea,
Who you were, are, ever becoming in a song,
Write yourself an open door nothings wrong
Press me to an edge, cross over, side to a side
I remember our future barefoot tiptoeing tide
Feb 24
Feb 24, 2026 at 8:33 AM UTC
On that threshing hold, night between a day,
Unwalled, unroomed, space among our way,
Holy Janus, two faces, a squeezed lemonade,
The dawn of our creation forms us in a shade
Everything changes, we step within the path,
What happens happens would shape us lath,
Flows thru us, on us beyond shall never past,
A bold new you, with us touching free at last
It feels a little different, cold air of possibility,
Just as a thin gown slides down us into a sea,
Who you were, are, ever becoming in a song,
Write yourself an open door nothings wrong
Press me to an edge, cross over, side to a side
I remember our future barefoot tiptoeing tide
Sometimes I think my life futured me and in a past of possibility carries me across the wonder of in-between each day, every night, a movie, a book, a poem, an act of creation that kisses me in a storm and always, it seems, just there, just beyond a hope of reach, takes that step, just this once, over and again, through that threshold of unbelief.
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