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Saturday, November 5, 2011


Breath Deep is dedicated to courage, life, and fresh air. Thank you Paul Greenlee.

People seem not to see that their opinion of the world is also a confession of character. -R.W.Emerson

Breathe Deep

I walked through the scuffed corridors of the hospital,
insulated double plate glass windows shimmer
back my reflection. My eyes find flipping
turning leaves dancing in a cooler breeze outside.

It was the end of the summer,
the beginning of fall, a freak snow storm fell, all framed
outside of the plate glass portholes.
Another season found us as I watched my reflection pass.

I am a breath of fresh air to a human life each day,
maybe because air somehow clings to my clothes,
maybe air hugs the flush of my cheek, or in the exhale of my good morning,
maybe it is the reflection of a breath of life brought from
the outside in, inside the four white walls of a his hospital room.

His lungs were filled with fluid, the sea, and the doctors emptied them…
Would there ever be a chance for a breath of fresh air?
To fill his lungs to capacity?

He faked feeling a breeze, and watched weeks of life pass outside of his window,
the draft was the air filtration system-- confined recycled air feeding his lungs.
Small little puffs of imitated sky to fill the bronchi of his lungs,
small tiny sniffs keeping him alive.
Small controlled sips of air held in like tears.
Oxygen level 88%. (My heart will beat for his;
my lungs will breathe for him.)

What is in a breath of fresh air? You may never have to ask.
The kind you take when you walk outside first thing in the morning.
The kind you take when the summer rain is about to fall.
The kind you take when the silvery snow begins to collect.
The kind you take when you kiss your lover and laugh from your heart,
outside in the park under a tree with leaves falling
and creating earth underfoot.

It is THE kind on his final exit from the hospital,
wheeled on a stretcher, buckled in tight,
approaching the automatic emergency room doors,
bruised hands holding on to metal guard rails,

small breaths in, eyes filled with oxygen’s hope,
and the doors open to a whoosh of fresh air.
He finds the sky and the sky kisses his heart. He thanks God.
Air sought him out on this balmy Thursday, after two months past,
and rejoices with his body.

A breath of fresh air fills the two lungs of a man, who knows the difference in air,
a man who exhaled in humbling relief, “my inhale is the beginning of a new life.”

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