The Breath Poem by Martin Moore

THE BREATH

Beneath the blackthorn bower
The fern fronds dance to gentle winds
And the tattoo of the summer rain.
Its sodden arches replete, drip
Onto the sleeping rock below and
Saturate its sphagnum mane.
A friendly robin rummages
Through the recently upturned earth
Under a contorted hazel tree
As temporary footprints form silently
Upon the moss and leaf strewn path
Then disappear with me
Falling again on the flat stone slabs
That forms the solid steps
A stairway to another flight.
The scene occurring within a single breath
Inhaling an awareness of being
Exhaling grim disquiet.