The Will to Breathe
Relief removes a dreaded weight
That you have borne in pain.
Some welcome news arrives (at last),
And you can breathe again.
The “breathing” that you’ve done the while
You’ve waited for the news
Resembled more an agony,
A blackly purple bruise.
Or this: You’ve breathed through fabric that’s
Been folded till it’s thick,
So every breath’s required a sort
Of complex magic trick.
But then relief. The bruise is healed.
So easily you breathe.
But Time, you know—you really know—
Exists but to deceive.
And soon, so soon, the bruise returns,
And breath requires the will
To write your hopes so myriad
With only ink and quill.
So surprised at the patina
Glowing near my hot farina.
Shakespeare Couplet: Romeo and Juliet
“’Tis but thy name that is my enemy,”
She says, not knowing he can hear—and see. (2.2)