One rain drop.

Immobile, suspended in the sky.

An invitation for those who dare.

From its expanse a black monkey with spidery limbs

Climbs out to clamber in the moment,

Wildly dancing and throwing leaves.

The water from which it emerged

Hangs for brief eternity, serene and still.

These two, the unchanged bead and the frenzied beast,

Are the same to open eyes.

I close my hand around each,

Put them in the pocket of my coat,

And trudge down the wet tarmac road.

Stay away from the gaps.

I consider these words then intentionally

Step into the in between.

A bird flies on the wing; a branch sways in the wind.

I hear the sharp notes of a violin, the warning whistle of the noon train.

Where are these things In the halt from inhale to exhale?

Snap your fingers, and they are gone.

I am not here. I am not there. I am not.