Breathing: A Poem


The city in the clouds glows

at sunset.

The air is thin as it

goes through your lips and teeth,

the clouds dampen you with icy shards.

They have wind machines for sidewalks

that push you up when you want to fall.

I lived there

when I was very young,

and always wondered what the ground felt like.

There was a whisper, once,

of an elusive edge somewhere far from the heart of the city,

a long walk that way.

So I got granola bars, cans of beans,

a pocket knife, a lighter,

sunglasses, a scarf, a hat,

in a bag.

I put my feet in front of each other,

one after the other,

like we learn before thoughts of walking long walks,

to find my escape.

The wind was always there.

It held me back, like the fingers that clawed

into my arms as I walked.

My toes shuffled over thin air.

And the sky glowed at sunset.


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