Advent Week 3

December grasses sleep in delicacy,
life englassed like a princess waiting for a kiss.

From two carmine lung furnaces,
breath steams with the cadence of turbines,
sucking in, hissing out,
impressing ghost bodies upon the ether
like snow angels rising.

In one long huff,
I exhale the shape of my doings,
It is that which proceedeth out of the mouth.

Fueled by a borrowed sun,
I stand in borrowed heat,
watching all that was held inside me
dissolve like a kingdom lost.

At last, the weight of exhalation
becomes a cramp inside my ribs.
I need air.

For I am a vessel,
An empty place,
A canyon,
A cave,
A lung.
Formed to be filled.

Gaudete in Domino semper.