An Orbit of Becoming

It’s all

 

Wordplay in the wonderlight

   Of morning

Hidden in a hinterland

   Of mind;

 

What time is there to become

   All we should have been?

What sense is there in all

   The being in between?

 

Pacing the neitherlands

   Between the real and hoped for,

 Grasping at distractions

   From the unshrinking chasm,

 

We’re semi-living half-lives

   Here in the always not yet,

Drifting like stardust

   From glimmer youth to dying light

 

Until we slow ourselves enough

   To notice it’s all motion;

Just floating spinning twists

   Striving toward a final eclipse.

 

We are

 

Word-birthed into lostness

   In a cosmos,

Sent into an orbit 

   Of becoming,

 

Begging the question:

What is this gravity?

   What and where and why

Is the center 

   Of this elliptic condition?

 

And can we find the right words

   For the meaning of the journey?