Fingers of sea uncurl
against rocky black shores
inhaling
now exhale—
teaching me how,
guiding me
in the art form of breathing.

I am but a child,
my life stretches long ahead of me.
How effective, how
necessary
to first get still—
get quiet.

Else how shall
we hear how to breathe?


The reader brings his or her own perspective to a poem and gives it meaning.

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