And Yet...

There is no sense of time

Only the ache, the growing ache

The pit inside, like a hunger

Like a peach's pit or one for fire

Empty or heavy, always and never both

But still the ticking, still the clicking

With tap-shoe syncopation

Devious and dire and dreadful despairing

And yet

Well...

I guess

A place exists for the "and yet"

And that's still something

There's a place there

Saved right there

For the "and yet"

A reservation for hope:

A table for two

A candlestick at dusk

A chimney in early autumn

A gas pump (almost perpetually)

Raw egg

5am...

And yet____________

Stood up

Electrified

Moved out

Economized

Bad

Nothing to wake up