Creature Speak

Where did my breath go 
when I held it so long 
in the silence, 
when I was stunned by 
exquisite suffering, 
marveling at all the colors 
of pain?


When I was so frozen 
that I could almost touch 
the crystalline void 
that seems to beckon 
to fingertips
with shimmering darkness
when we so desperately yearn 
for peace?


Where did my breath go 
after it proved its existence 
in the form of a ghost 
in the chill of Winter air,
when I thought it left me  
for good,
and a spirit had come 
to carry me home?


Where was my breath 
after the subtlest beauty 
unfolded only 
when I was perfectly still, 
lying on the floor, 
watching patterns of light 
dance on the ceiling 
at angles only available 
when you’re on your back, 
unable to move, 
in the season of the sun 
arguing with the moon 
over shining territory?


In the half-light of my heart, 
when I could so easily 
relinquish 
my faint little glimmer 
to give the sun more time 
to warm the earth, 
my breath returns with a hint 
of Spring for my lungs.


For she had been with the wind, 
and she learned 
that no matter how still 
and quiet the world becomes, 
something is always moving, 
stirring in the places 
we can’t see or taste or feel:  


a spark of warmth infused 
with the magic of possibility, 
making itself ready 
for the inevitable moment 
when we remember to breathe.

© 2023,  Sheya Forest

Art: Sprout by Jo Smoley, Fine Art America