In the stillest of moments,
Like in early morn or
Late night when the world has
Teetered on it's quitest side,
My soul escapes.

Floating in small pieces on the coarse of my breath,
It drops like snow and melts
me into the present.

And I let an essence of myself
Bind into the fabric of those memories, and every early morning
Or late night when everything around me has settled,

I come back to life a little.