With each breath straining against the force of the air
trying to remain in its right place, I live.
By will alone (it seems), I am able to move through time.
Feet begging for a hint of lightness
in but one labored step, I drag half-consciousness
down these silent paths - the expanse of field to the left
opens into the sky, limitless in blue-green on summer mornings
and to my right, what may be miles of oak and maple shade.
I never look into the trees.
I am the prisoner of these paths,
walking this narrow divide every day, barely noticing.
I must have, once, to have willingly returned,
before it became what defined me:
"She takes such determined steps
for someone going nowhere..."
But I remember when I danced...
A glimpse of a gaze, my meditation on serenity,
and one foot recalls a lift, separation from the floors of regret;
the other follows as your lips turn,
softly humming the tune of my only salvation
and I find my grace in a moment
of exhalation as you breathe into me.