I
                                                                                                
there is no greater, more
constant exchange between
ourselves and the world
than our breathing

no sooner have we
sown the skyey seeds
in our lungs
than reaped their fruit—
discarded their chaff

breathing is an agriculture


II

but to what lofty tides
we subscribe!
the sky remains infinite—
too proud for form


III

we have outgrown the ocean
outgrown the earth—
perhaps we will outgrow respiration
and become like the elements
the dead seas
the unmovable mountains

breathe consciously for a moment

breathe as slowly as you can

you are a petrified forest
you are the ocean floor
you are Fuji


IV

but with my deepest breath
I cannot swallow the sky whole
I cannot crack the edifice
or bend the arm of a single tree

I am but the fleeting scent
of a spice wafted
and splayed
on the endless
wind