Not yet, the morning holds its breath in place
Not yet, I haven’t crossed that final space
Not yet, the distance still exists between
The wanting and the wanted, in between
Not yet, and yet the not-yet is alive
More alive than anything I’ve known to thrive
Not yet, not yet, the world is still suspended
Not yet, not yet, the sentence isn’t ended
Not yet, not yet, and that’s a kind of grace
The wanting fills the not-yet’s open space
There’s a quality of light in the not-yet
That vanishes the moment that you get
What you been wanting, what you been pursuing
And I’ve been learning what I should be doing
Is living in the not-yet with full attention
And treating it as its own holy invention
Not yet, not yet, the world is still suspended
Not yet, not yet, the sentence isn’t ended
Not yet, not yet, and that’s a kind of grace
The wanting fills the not-yet’s open space
I am holding everything I feel out here
In the not-yet, in the space before the clear
Resolution of the wanting into fact
And I find I want to keep the wanting intact
Not forever, no, the getting has its place
But the not-yet has a beauty in its face
Not yet, not yet, the world is still suspended
Not yet, not yet, the sentence isn’t ended
Not yet, not yet, and that’s a kind of grace
The wanting fills the not-yet’s open space