That last piece of Heaven

What is that single moment ?That moment next to nothing, nothing, nothing at all. Nothing to believe, nothing to bear down, nothing to show for?

Just one single moment. without spaces, or emptiness or pauses . No hopes to buy into, no dreams to walk to, just the plain old lucid whimsical self , trying nothing, being nothing.

Nothing shady, nothing crazy. No drama, no whimpers, nothing too absolute, nothing too oblivious.

What is that moment within a series of  moments, between all that is happening, among all that could?

Between a million possibilities , among failures, among chances amidst experiences , that could lead to nothing or too many things.

Is  it the place where the sun tilts westwards, and the moon calls in a late night? Where the darkness beneath is too high for the fires in the skies to reach? Or that sudden kiss of thunder over the roof that sees no rain at all? Or that last breath of the old man who lived through a borrowed life?

Is it the last patient breath, a mourner's silence, an angry man's plea, the last call to stop, the final man on earth, the new life that waits to look at you alone?

Is it not in solitude, in emptiness, in hollowness, in silences that you can move again, that you can finally stop looking. Is it not that moment where you decide to let go of the bygones?

Oh, why do you cry then, why do you mourn? Who is is that you are looking for? Who will it be when you can finally stop searching? Is the hope not enough, that pushes every drop of your blood to your heart, that makes you breathe, that makes you live?

That little window that overlooks two more stories, that frail piece of desert, that closed drop of hunger, that coercing peace.

That final freedom, that first discovery, that circle of life and that boundless death. That everything, that nothing, that last piece of heaven, that first piece of hell.