The In-Between: Poetry by Abigail Dustin

When I am falling softly asleep
I will myself
away, it is
the only moment
where existence daydreams.

The subtle spiral of thought, of things
that blow in the head,
paper and leaves!
far away, an intangible reach—
They are suddenly upon me.
Blurred, in the instance I heard my mind
realize, it is
sleeping.

There is no abyss in which to tumble,
no crisp shadow on the moon—
The line of sleep I draw
is charcoal, smooth and soft and surely fragile,
it swoons a revelation
over the concept of presence,
it swoops a declaration
of peace and petulance
for the fractures of the world.

When I am falling softly into snow
I feel myself
swiftly arc from the sure
trees and towers and textured things
in a rush of natural weight,
the pull of rock and earth, for me
a release into what is full
of one substance, none the same.
i fall, through clear space
that light and air love, and then,
there is a pause.
a profound moment
of touch. when i am
grounded, and aloft
face up, the sky and clouds
which I cannot touch, my world
that is real
and
detached.
cradled by a cushion.
neither sustained, nor sustaining.
i sink into sleep.

—Abigail Dustin, Grade 11.