like so many frogs
we croak our choruses
     of regret...

   in           and           out
          and        in       and        out
and          in       and          out   
           of                breath

still
our paper bags
these pent up lungs
are filled again with memories
that never quite escape
two cages
(x - ray prisons)
holding captive still
                    these hearts -

like so many yawns
what sweet relief
to now expel
such weary air:

            *This, My Conscience: