There is a breath
that must know I am dreaming,
a breath of assistance,
without distraction,
a breath of journey
as if warmly holding my hand,
a passage of breath,
as sweet as
lucidly breathing my dreams.
There is a breath
that stands alone to me.
It offers
compassionate consideration,
unencumbered
by apparent circumstance.
It is autonomously inside me
when I am pleading my case
of aloneness.
It is unanimously of me
when I am desperately
without claim.
It is a sentinel
when I have come
to the end of my tears.
It is a warm breath bedding
when
at the foot of a mountain of spirit,
my worn out mind admits,
to self-love presence.
Breath is all people I have met,
molecules of oxygen exchanged,
all utterances shared
over breath transactions.
Breath is the drawbridge,
the bookmark,
the kiss attendant,
the wet brush after passion's display.
Breaths are the talons
of free spirits.
Breath is the one sense
without delusion,
the one continuous season
without sacrifice or serenade.
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