The joy of breath
It’s like sewing the torn seam of a treasured jacket –
needle pushed in, pulled out to patch the rend
that lets the chill in and the warmth escape.
You might say His name with each stroke if you’ve a mind to
and go through the day with mercy in your throat;
like a swinging gate awhisper on well-oiled hinges –
you keeping a nearby watch to chronicle the traffic,
follow your thoughts where you will and leave off
where you must -- stand and observe
the lone traveler disappearing against the sky.
Wherever you end up, the gate will follow,
ready for you to take up your post again.
You won’t change much (coming in/going out) –
your deportment, perhaps, discernment,
your rash decisions, easy attachments.
O seamster, name-dropper, sentinel, spy!
holy, holy witness, knowing only the moment,
inside and out, and the primal joy of breath!
O child of God, will you ride
the ox or
chase forever behind its random wanderings?
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