One Perfect Breath

I loved my experience in Japan last fall. This poem came from that time between waking and sleeping, when your thoughts are a jumble of creative imaginings waiting to be explored.

One Perfect Breath

I fall.

Slumber

catches me,

cradles

my perfect breaths,

my weary bones.

I float

on a river.

It flows by the night

window,

sheltering the white

Egret, the slender,

dark carp.

I rise

a murder of crows

calls,

draws my perfect

breath short.

My sleepy eyes

open to reveal

the clear

day.