Not the first of the day, not the last, the muddling in the middle, the series of steps in the middle, along somewhere, at least there is that, between sleep and deprivation, betweem waking and suffering, everything inbetween, the grace of finger across the back of your head, the sigh of relief, the pellets of water from the shower, the spoon clenched between his lttle teeth, at least there is that, the between, the distance shortened infintismally, between here and the grave, everything that matters.