Waiting

Waiting
that's all

Feeling nothing, can't decide what I want to do this evening, not because I've been immersed in work, not because I'm drained, tired, hiding
but because I am

an expectant pause, waiting poised

the lift of the ribs, the space before the breath sweeps in
the turn of the tide when the sea swell, swollen, hangs still
the brow of a hill before it rolls back down

I am suspended animation
fight or flight has ebbed away

I hang in the blink of the eye of a cyclone: expanded, extended
and I am the calm at the epicentre, the space before life begins again.

The same cycle again, or something new?