how

How would we live
if each breath we took was
numbered
and every hesitation
sent us flying asunder

in the vague realization

of a mind's half invention

of jewels merely plundered?

Deeply, softly, fully
slowly
inhaling only
to raise our hearts
in trepidation
of the next failing instant.

How would I touch you
if your skin was
dust and ash
eroded by the wind
as these marauding breezes pass
through you
and through my desperate grasp?

Deeply, softly, fully
slowly
lifting my hands only
if I have calmed the
waters rushing
just below your
swirling surface:

in reverence
of your fleeting spectre
of miraculous
light and
sound and
colour

and

How would you listen
if you knew I float alone,
bobbing on the waves
you hear pounding

against your bones?