A Breath of Air

Imagine if our current President

Took something immaterial for a change

Like a retreat

To a Buddhist boot camp

Where he could not talk,

Could not access electronics,

Or anything Hollywood,

Could not think thoughts

Other than to let them go,

Could not take our breaths

Only his own.

Are they shallow or deep?

Rhythmic or syncopated?

He would feel

The air forced 

On his upper lip

As the breath

Escapes his nostrils

Knowing that everyone

Draws breath.

Until they don’t.

Everyone feels the risings.

Everyone feels the fallings.

Everyone passes.

As does everything.

But everything comes back.

To the breath.

For the breath.

Being of the breath.

Always ending.

Always  beginning.



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