To Breathe, To Live

Walking along; a silent road, trees marching along its side, slowly…
an inch every thousand years, gravel at my
feet, the smell of country in my nose, the low overhang
of clouds an inch above me…too far away to touch
sweet summer fading goodbye with humid sadness
To breathe, to live I think with a closed eye, with a
wry smile, with summer’s sadness on my skin.

 

What was before is not what is now or what
will be tomorrow but similar, similar and different and
like summer; gone on schedule, changed as everything
changes…slow fast vibrating between states and all
the same as well; good, bad, unnoticed mostly but
still deviations, still ripples in the pond…lapping against
our legs our thoughts our souls our lives

 

Walking with my trees I know she wants the sun, wants to feel the heat
warm skin and bones and feel…feel on toes on top of everything else, on
silly wandering thoughts, on the back of a downturned book half
in shade…half in mind as slight winds fall across exposed
dreams…to breathe, to live, to find that small
piece of stillness under a huge block of reality is
all anyone ever wants can’t have looks for.

 

She thinks of me I think while walking…trees agree, the sun
shines on mumbled remarks lost in simple winds saying simple things
to leaves, to branches, to echoes inside dreams and inside
the mostly missing parts of my soul, my thoughts drift
and slide settle wait for nothing more than the idea that
she is…and she is I hope always hope and think always
think that she has me inside her.

 

Bruised and tired, tired…she waits while life turns around, its back
to her, to what she feels, what she sees when she sees anything, she
waits with closed eyes open heart open soul and…
knows, just knows that bruises fade, that angles soften that ripples
in ponds slow small slowly drift into shadows into nothing while
everything remains above…she knows I am thinking of her of

the spot she is at inside me.

 

To breathe, to live…to finish walking, my trees say goodbye thank you

wave to winds coming from north of beaches of sand of towels and umbrellas
as summer’s sadness lands sails across the sky and lands
on her, on
me, on

us.

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