Breath
Breath is a tiny thing, a clod of earth, laces that tie my toes into their shoes.
The underside of grains of sand, the in-between of sheets.
The standing pines, ice on cornhusks, my coat buttoned one button off.
Your blue cardigan sunk over the chair, my feelings wander to the china dancing figurine on the mantle piece.
Piece where my daughters smile from their frame.
On the porch that tapping, your black bird come inside the house to see.
Susan Bazett