i already miss so much

if i knew miracles it would be sand not water that i'd part
just to see what's under (how it looks) and what i seek
is so much and so varied it needs a microscope, or a
fact sheet, a true and certain thing

^^^

in the nursery (how the nursery used to look once)
viewing through the window glass tiny cribs in rows
in each one a child new to its breath ( a few hours old
or a day) for the first time breathing the same air as

^^^

in a corridor, in a heart, a prayer is wailing and
wailing is prayer going on in someone, in
someone else's voice, someone else's shock
hits what the breath marks when it stops

^^^

(i don't see, but) i think about a time we all take
the same inward breath (all at the same time) in and then
the breath rushing out would spin us off balance
in a chaos, in an endless turn, in a heartbeat

^^^

waves pound and roll on a beach
little feet get wet chasing at the edge
of so much movement

sand is a bucket house when sand gets tipped
but only sand that's not too dry or too wet

digging holes in the sand, all the water the bucket
holds fills and the water in the hole leaks
back, over and over, into sand

^^^

deep in the
deep going down
water over and
no air i
learn how to
float tiny bubbles
in my blood
so i can
drift back so
i can gasp
so i can
suck air in
and god is
my breath then
is the sun
is the air

^^^

sand blows loose in the wind
settles somewhere else when the
wind stops and i don't try
to tag a grain's progress

in that thought, as each grain scatters
each grain is displaced on the shore, and
if i knew how, i'd part the sand, try to
find all the exhaled breath underneath