without breathing

can one think without breathing? or feel?
can one’s blood continue to circulate?
do the hands still shiver and does the chest remain
squirreled up, full of hidden gifts —
briar, bramble and lost ribbon as a winter nest?

i want to whisper: breathe!
but to whisper requires breath also.

i want to signal,
in the dark,
using only my arms
and a light procured
from a ghost lantern-man
on a still-living rail,
no sound but the train coming,
vibrating the rails
though it is still

around the mountain,

out of sight —

i want to signal: come! come.
i want to signal to what is coming: don’t stop!

out of sight, still, train, i feel you in this
in my hands and wrists and gut,
in my knees and shins and toes,

in all the places that bend in me,
in all those places that are weak and scared,
in all those places that quiver breathless, out of sight.

above this dark passage i see
just a sky-colored cloud
making the pinkish moonlight
mingle with gray-black and
s   p     r     e      a      d
and i think:

stay large, waning moon,

so that i might
remain intact
under your light.


About scribblelip

walking down the road with a book of conjugations in my hand.
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