Interstice

A hotel room is liminal,

The space between places

Like the sky that a plane traverses

A hall full of life’s doorways, all closed

That open to unknown parts of ourselves

Hidden across the paths we must travel

Snow, sky, and ghosts of lingering emotion

A room where I hear a chorus of human voices

So easily drown out an orchestra of instruments

With a view of that black swelling abyss, the water

That calls out with the promise of eternity

A door to downtown Los Angeles: 5 AM

Covered entirely with a hazy serenity

Quiet and eerie, painted in morning light

With strange, watercolor brushstrokes

Colors like flowers on a grave

The wonder of intentional impermanence

I went with them carried in my arms

As an offering, and an admission

To that same ghost of emotion

A pilgrim, I sought wisdom

Because I had none within myself then

Only handfuls of stars and memories

They are the reminder that life

Exists for a moment between death

The wisdom lies not in their death

But in the beauty of how they lived