As if a simple line
could mean good night,
with nothing in between.

As if it was as simple
as moss gathering a rock.
Well? Why not? In between.

While this and that frantic comes,
the next advance, almost
done for, is in between.

As if once, unseen, comes again.
Goodbye; seems fitting, Ultra-spying
means nothing, in between..

Living. As if, just past my fingertips,
a simple line of verse
could matter, in-between.

I guess I’m now again askew,
In-betweening knowledge-clues;
I need to start living.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 6/7/12