for those of us who are tired
of despair
Dec 2, 2020
if you know this is not breath
after winter passes, it is the
cold cloud, persistent, but
forgotten to see, you have
forgotten to imagine a world—
imagine a world where the
breath is automatic and
invisible, unfettered grace—
how do you reconstruct that
air again, when you never
thought to consider how it
was made (not really), and
there is no deity for you, no
omniscient ghost to scrape
the madness from your
cold and crusted chin? i am
afraid, in my own words,
that i have promised a remedy
when i only have this to share
this story of seeing You, this
tower of knowing your air
should come more easily.
