breath drawn back into perfect circles,
circumference of heart and beating wings,
we can survive in this black.
who decided to crawl down into these depths,
these places where songs
trip and tumble to the center of it all?
clenched jaws in sleep,
thighs tight under covers,
sleep is scuffed shoes,
things you meant to pack but didn’t.
we all need some saving grace,
a glint of a future that hums like harmonicas.
we have lungs,
so we use them to make blossoms,
to pass our breath into another rosy mouth.