living

The Poem – Framing Words

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Moments
Pass in dusty ledges
Fingers trace mottled wood
And stop.

Breath a frame
By frame
Spoken forever
Fall into the shape
Traced, held in wood
In mottled fingers,
Side by side moving breath
To breathe, in
Breaths motion picture
Framing words.

~IW~

That Little Breeze

I sat a while blind,
Deaf, numb, mute.
Killed by my own heart.

Heavy air on summers days
Pushed sweat out the pores
In the still air, I can’t feel its presence

Keeping me clinging on, I know
I need to move, and I do, almost.
The sweltering, the weight, too much!

Stand and walk! In that instance,
The faintest breeze brushes the droplets
Formed through my skin to save my life

Relieving, releasing, comforting,
Wakening my senses
The touch, of nothing I can see, pushing against me

Run, perhaps soon, so this breeze grows stronger
To hear shushing, limbs pulsing blood
Open my mouth and sing, or maybe scream –

~IW~