to be breathers

My breath

reaches out

into the world,

crystalized

white,

fingering 

dark evening air,

cutting sharp

through

layers,

asking to be

received,

to be blessed.

Watch

it spiraling

both

outward

&

inward,

sweeping by

us in

a tender

caress—

“Osmosis

of the soul,”

he tells me.

I like it so much,

I can’t help

but

smile.

A passing through,

a transferring over,

an equalizer—

assimilation of ideas,

gradually,

unconsciously,

wonderful.

My soul filters

out slow,

trickles

into

the world,

gives,

receives—

a small

piece

of his

returns,

nestles

into my thoughts.

I keep it there

for now,

its warmth

reminds me—

your thoughts

are not

alone.

How beautiful

to be
breathers,

to be
thinkers,

to be

all that is human.

We commune

in

the simplest,

in the most

intricate

of ways.