These days there is no life in me,

but for breath

in-and-out with pain.

Awaiting a final exhale,

to be alive again!

No longer palpable-agonizing,

recalling what used to be…

Become a sensory-spirit, nature,

not, I,

but a glance –

at wildflowers in the fields:

yellow, pink, azure,

in beds of plush green.

As children we twirled in its midst,

atop a tire-swing,

magicians of imagination:

We were gypsies,

blew daffodil-wishes.

Second chapter.

Yesterday’s lover,

his breath-the dew,

over my shoulders

become tree branches for birds:

I love you, forever in their song.

My precious body…

breasts, waistline, buttocks, protruding collar-bones,

neck and knees, spine and feet,

the heart

(its season finale)

defeated.

Let each cell transform

into wind–

With every breeze

capture hap-peace-ness

[when words are omnipotent].

No memory to ponder.

No yesterday to bid farewell.

No tomorrow to long for…

Each story and dream,

their challenges and anticipation,

simply become.

An the relief…

It soars!

Copyright 2024 Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte

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