I breathe in ancient rhythm ways,
Aware of gazing at the same moon as the first man.

Raw power trailed from its creation as the earth cooled.

Were the stirrings the same when the world grew dark and nocturnal creatures roamed?

I am primal, subdued and powered down.

Sometimes when I rush past, it catches my sleeve and yanks me back, threatening to unleash a pressurized yearning.

Then it passes and I find my jet stream again.

When I can spare the cost of the indulgence, I sit alone in the night and watch my chest rise and fall with the first man.