by Taylor Gray Moore

You’re breath finally breathed;
the soft call of faraway
birds; a hum of whales
lost in brethren contours of
the sea.

You’re free like deer are free;
like snow blowing over pavement
is free. Unlike how we are free:
as wanderers along the freeway
between one sea and another
are free.

I live along your suggestion
of a current:
my feet slip along ice, and
I find my sure footing by it.
I become flesh, animal,
along your beams:
become more than
mute spirit.

Photo by Kirsten E.