In between the birth cry and death gasp,
There's that otherworldly time
When you are new and protected -
Caul from your tiny head tucked in a
Pocket for luck against drowning -
Yet grown up, part of you is dying, cells degenerate
Eyes lose sparkle and teeth grind down...
So busy you don't look up, least of all notice
That the edges are being rubbed off your self
'Til you're all smooth and sandpapery,
Dust of your dreams blown forth by the
East Wind. If you stopped to look
You might glimpse that otherwordly time
When you are dying, in between.
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