The meaning of us
that even the big shadow of a tree knows,
That our essence is unlimited;
it cannot be spilled. It has no well.
But existence
means an eternal breath
touched a page, and we are left
knowing we are breath
but unable anymore to breathe.
In moments of dreaming
or laughing
we lift from the page.
We gasp in unused essence.
We are breath in the universe;
then we are not
We are wet paper.
We mourn. That I were still essence.
This existence is condemning.
But we moaned as breath,
crying like children who cannot find
your face behind your hands.
Do I exist? Do I exist?
And somewhere, there is probably God,
completing our trinity.
oct 13. 08
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