Airy sweetness,
deep inhalations, deeply held
breathing bones are truly alive.
Although the achings return
always, like hungry snakes,
a yawning ball of light
is revolving and grows,
ever bright,
devouring the darkness,
defaced by the snakes,
yet undeterred.
When the storms subside,
it is time to
release the sickening grip
and assign symbols to your
sorrows, gently gazing into the needles
and breathe the air
like you were buried
at sea,
a thousand years ago.