Waiting

A breath
held underwater -
any moment now
the ocean will invade,
engulf my all,
obliterating, flooding
all rhyme and reason
to exist.

The night air -
heavy and sweet,
dark with weight
and a hint of summer grass -
just before the rain pelts,
hard, like bullets,
so it hurts your skin.

A pause in conversation -
words in suspended animation
so all the world’s a hiatus,
a planet spinning slowly
off it’s axle until
time is no more.

The nanosecond
before tumbling into an abyss –
a hovering,
heart stopping
instant
before the momentum of free fall
rushes the blood into your head.

Lips held
but a whisper apart.
Nothing to be said
or done
to change the course
that must be run.

Waiting.
To drown,
to pour,
to shout,
to plunge,
to melt –
and be alive
in whatever must come.