tipping this way and that

with each step on the tightrope

bringing things closer to the brink.

it’s the edge of things,

the very edge.

a single blink

between now and then

between vanilla and chocolate

between life and death.

it’s inside and outside

within and without

between the word and the thing

between the ideal and the actual

between the coming and going.

it’s a fragile equilibrium

tip toe on the point of a pin

poised and steady

gently swaying

with the movement of breath

conscious of nothing

and fully aware.

it’s an equinox point

inside the sunset

in the midst of the moment

seeing without judgment

the purity of perception

a gentle and heavy spring snow.