I
spend my days pulling my breath in,
letting my breath free again,
measuring the air
one lungful at a time.How can I carry the memory
of all that wind
inside me
and not feel the weight of it?
So many times my poor ribs
wheezed in and out.
I do not know the number of breaths I have taken.
I cannot measure the volumes I have contained.
I would say You,
whom I have heard contains all,
might know,
but how can I presume to ask?
Am I more to you than
carbon and salt
pulled into your being for an instant
of your agelessness
then let free?
Will not my elements be scattered like the air
that enters my astonished body
then departs,
spreading the faint odor of my presence
throughout the world.
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