The Inhale

 

Speak of the moment now, 

Remind me of that hour, that minute

 That breathless second of which I cannot comprehend.

In the fool’s errand of metaphor I tripped and tumbled

As the winds whispered, sighed, and at last unbound me,

Taking me up in their gentle teeth,

Gnawing my heart with their wisdom.

And thus, for that moment, I ceased to be,

Sinking then into the sun’s everglow 

as the world’s wordless babble fell to naught.

Can I express the promise of the sky,

The whispers of scaled claws on rock,

And light’s own sky-gold through the pines?

The wind’s ethereal sigh within my lungs?

The time without time when an unspoiled flame 

First was lit,

Wrapped in a fractal of sublimity, sorrow, and sun,

A brief second, a minute, an hour 

When the sounds of Birds and Bats were null. 

Seconds, minutes, hours passed,

 And once again

Out from the teeth I stepped.

Everglow fades, speech here returns. 

The moment long gone as sublimity rots 

In the stale steel drone of what must be here and today.

A second moment.

And yet, as it was then it is now, 

Even cloaked in the shackles of a second time,

A time of rattling codes and bones made of ice, 

Even there, even now,

the breath inhaled of sunlight and sorrow,

The sightless sound of the whispering wind, 

Through the pines and promises,

As the time stops once more

And the whispers speak in the tongue of gold fire

 Of what could be

What will be,

The beckoning breath of becoming

Returns once again to my lungs.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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