Have I a body or have I none?

Am I who I am or am I not?

Pondering these questions,

I sit leaning against the cliff while the

years go by,

Till the green grass grows between my feet

And the red dust settles on my head,

And the men of the world, thinking me dead,

Come with offerings of wine and fruit

to lay by my corpse.

—Cold Mountain

In Between

we find ourselves
on the edge of oblivion
barely able
to hear and see
the game set by
the light and dark
we live in between
the possibilities