十一.

Breath of Life

A single drop of rain,
a delicate bead that instantaneously
seeps into a bed of rich soil
and colors it
the rich brown of coffee.

Her fingertip and
a slight flick at her hair;
it bounces at her touch
like a reflex.
An intriguing circle of motion
as it drifts back to her shoulder
in quiet repose.

And even the faint outline of the moon,
secretly hiding amidst the
luminescent evening sky...
As night approaches,
it crawls closer, each hour with a
more confident stride
as it slowly grows
alive.
It boasts its round perfection,
as if taunting you to simply
pluck it from its
jeweled throne.

Breathing - those
inhales and exhales - is
no longer for the living,
for the living feel not their pulse
and hear not their breath.

But the mobile and idle
elements of this world
relish in the beauty of
every unspoken word and unseen action,
respond to
the momentum of the
wind...

And so it is they
who breathe
the breath of life.
Alive.