A Meditation on Air

It, too, is your enemy.
You take it in and out

yet it leaves no taste
to remember it by:

there is only
that constant need

for more. Like you
I would like to

puncture its quiet
perfection, yet cannot

catch it
in my hands. I wonder

what the first
beings thought

when the air
invaded their lungs.

Until then, they
were lifeless and dumb

but suddenly their
clay came alive

as air danced
lightly on their tongues.