I cast my lot in the liminal space
in the space between the high tide and the low

Driven to be a moving target I ride my broom
over the horizon into the power of the night

You keep on turning beautiful but useless
cartwheels in the sand

Lying next to myself in bed I wonder if you’ll become
one of those people sitting alone in parked cars

in scenic byways or public parks
drinking a coffee or drinking a beer

Come with me into a bend in time
between whatever and wherever, over the threshold

into the great perchance