Air Poem by Mo Stoycoff

When the humidity goes away, the sky sits still.
It is a clear blue sea reaching between continents
and I’m a searchlight, scanning its depths for you.

Compelled to follow a narrow country road, I’m
crossing bridges and twisting around groves of cedar,
easing over dips and repaired potholes, traveling.

Thousands of tiny butterflies trickle and then swarm,
dancing around my windshield with delicate recklessness.
I would laugh, but now I only think, 'Yes, of course.'

The frenetic migration is the only movement today
and I slowly stare with a somber lack of wonder.
Anything can happen in this extraordinary air.

Each day I'm given every miracle but the one I seek.
Since you breathed cool sweet air into my mouth,
you’ll hold my wonder aside until I come and fetch it.