I missed the moment of this breath
a million times in this lifetime
If I could return to the first one, could I catch
them all, as if breath, as if a moment, is something
to be caught?
No, I release them all, for in truth they have already
And for the next one? Maybe it wants to be missed,
fly under the radar, whisking me away from the pain
and into the promise of something, of another
breath, another possibility
Who will I be when the next breath comes,
and will I see it, no longer trying to hold it
Rather, will I see it and in so doing see myself?
Do I want to?
Is it fear that keeps me missing breaths, not
fully feeling the precious air entering this vessel,
not fully experiencing what it can be to let go?
Do I miss those breaths of the painless moments?
And what if I had caught them, bottled them,
Could I breathe them in now or would they
float fast away because they were never meant
to know the boundary of a moment, or of anything?
Deeply filling my lungs. Slowly, slowly, slowly releasing.
I did not miss that breath.
And for right now, that is a start, a place to be,
and plenty good enough.