your someone can give so much to you
so much you think you might slip beneath and lose your life but
instead you may float blissfully on top or be propelled like a
porpoise across the surface  - time slides on inexorably and I
struggle to keep moving with it- sooner or later we all lose the race
but the joy is in the movement, a reward for effort expended- my gift
to you is a direction to the movement at least a wiggle or a bend to
it- a widening and warp from the straight and constricted - a
variation in velocity  - a downhill stretch that makes the air push
against your face carrying away the damp stagnant breath that only
went from mouth to nose and around again, only as much oxygen as the
gasesous soup can absorb in its time outside your envelope but now
you can breathe refreshed, carry on and come around again

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Index of new writing © 2000 Thomas Coleman

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