Air

a Prose Poem

Photo by Cate Bligh on Unsplash

In the last month of my fiftieth year I turned to air, not air we breathe but air we are, not the moon was the sliverest of a sliver in air we breathe but air we were before lung and nose and we had no need of air as breath, not bird as shadow against the stars in air we breathe and the moon the sliverest of a sliver but air we were when air we breathe had yet to gain this use, to this air I turned in the autumn of my fiftieth year…