‘s what raises you
and places you above
the life you’re leaving, severed
from the one you live;
what hurls you forth
and holds you to the light;
whatever makes you into someone who’s made it,
and ‘it’’s the break, and what comes afterwards.
The break’s a falling-off
that isn’t flight;
is where you score the line decisively,
where change asserts its edge;
is where the present stops being itself,
the past becomes a cliff;
is what divides, on
either side, ‘What if’.
It’s where we wait
is the white spaces in the text;
is what’s suspended between page and pen
before the leader signs the law;
is where we pause;
is where we start again.