And it is a Good Thing

Yes, Madre, I am breathing-- Listen

the beauty of a thought in the hallow

of an Amaryllis blossom singing

caught me short, as if placing second

in some marathon operetta

second running, because I'm catching up

in Harmony all these years to the Melody above

Yes, Madre, I'm calling it a Life--

And I am, breathing low, in surrender

to the emotion that has me rooted still

at the pump, that which is pumping blood

for some unanticipated trip between

these hemispheres I call one, and precious

--heart, or brain, or the soul that twines

the pause of understanding, our silence

in the hum, that withhold, for which I'm living

--a seed planted amid the Pine Barren

Yes, Madre, in awe, I am breathing just a little