--Bruce Bond
When a high wind tears down the power
and it's you and me and the emptiness
that gives us license to move, we do not move.
We gather our cats in the pantry, we listen,
we hear in heaven the enormous sigh
of an iron lung exhaling, the storm eye
passing, the terrible burden coming to rest.
One part of every wind is trembling.
The other the stillness the trembling moves aside.
The future, as we know it, is never true.
Never false. It is here in the quiet turn
of every breath, the little death a singer breathes.
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