The Gift

Imagine that breathing was not a habit

and you had to hold your heart in your hands

every moment

a life beginning and ending with the looming question:

"Will this go on?"

Will we find strength to attend

the furnace of our easily-expired flesh engine

or

will we decide that we are simply too tired

to continue on?

Imagine how every breath in would feel like a choice

and the millisecond of fuel

that soothed our aching chest would inspire us

to reach for such heights once again

a life lived in short spurts of both

panic and peace in equal measure

a constant reminder of death's granite fingers locked

around our throat in a lover's lustful embrace

Imagine you let yourself acknowledge

the recognition that to breathe in and live

is a gift

that both inspires and demands without interest

in the investments of either

neither still would anything more be required

to deserve an anniversary of moments

whereupon we lavish ourselves with life

as a lover his suitor in kisses

this is without a doubt a feat for which

we seldom give ourselves credit

and perhaps if more we could

a more perfect love of self might be found.

-rrf