The same stifled,
recycled air
has been circulating
in this glass box.

My body inhabits it,
never fully exhaling lest
I lose sight
of the things in front of me.
Never fully stretching lest
I break the glass,
and all my work falls apart.

But the cage has dissolved,
until I re-build it again later.
the glass has simply melted away,
until I will come back.
to put pen to paper,
for the last year.

So now I breathe
the tendrils of the night air,
the warm atmosphere
as you play with my hair.
I breathe in the time before me,
and exhale everything
that I’ve been ignoring.