Movement of Breath
Shadows have voices;
I hear them--
in the movement of breath,
as it curls under words and sighs.
Tongue, tasting the past--
upon the salty flesh of memory,
thirstily devouring--
apparitions of self;
Mind caught--
amidst the twilight of truth,
as it creeps like age
upon the ignorance of youth.
And I am what once was,
conjoined with what is.
Twinned refractions--
contorted within the depths
of deepest reflection.
Until each twisted image
welcomes the other, soothed within
inner eye's mirrored acceptance...
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