There’s a moment of smoke breath:
Evaporating into cold air
With traces of snow ice and slush
Holding to the tips of brown grass.
And pleasant trees flaunt their branches:
Not dead but awaiting new life,
Waving through the chilling wind.
In this moment I’m waiting
My eyes surveying the tranquil
Morning, it waits now to be
A blur of superfluous detail
In the bustling of human life
Wafting in the chilling wind.
The breath that pours from my mouth
Is the same as it was always
While I waited for the bus
In heavy jackets and warm gloves.
A calm comes before the storm
Of scrambled memories full of dust.
In this breath I am watching
Evaporating into cold air
With traces of my living lungs
Clinging to the molecular atmosphere.
And discarded breath flaunts itself:
Not dead but awaiting new life
To be grasped from chilling wind.
As the car pulls up and I’m ready to go
And in my childhood the smoke of the bus shoots against the snow
I let out one last breath and remember
That not much has changed, and it’s for the better.
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