the lungs of a human being
tough short brave
tongue tasting the air clouds the storms the rain
wide feeling, the chest feeling bluer as wind ages it and writes on it
headed away from the end
to the hands
shadows of motion come through the nose
we neatly place down our tracks
because we know we are slow
but our lungs beat like boxing gloves
for our heart is away deep behind
the two-sided soul of depth and energy pushes everything,
the Grandfather Everything such light air you must run to feel it
our souls do it for us
the face of the soul is wind
spacing itself that way in the flat sky
spacing the breaths in it out
raining air in a lion's roar
wanting and feeling like a child
harnessing two wings of a dry old new back of a book
for the underside, the stomach, the words
to rise into being