You hold your breath
like spring to summer, the passage of time
in wild thoughts.
We peer over ledges, lift rocks
sit on stools, bumping elbows
to find our range.
I wonder how you fill the wilderness
in your mark, in the prints you make,
the songs you sing to yourself or no one at all.
Tell me of the spaces
between seconds and moments.
Tell me the time you listened
for God in the radio. Any God.
Tell me if your city lungs send oxogen
in the same way capillary streets
wind and tangle and deliver
us into new places…because even during yoga
I forget to catch my breath.