HOLDING AIR

God entrusted me with a handful of air,
dancing with dust-light and the perfumed scents of flowers.

I cradled it between my palms and licked it with my
fingers,
at night I'd rock it against my breast, and it
was gravity to my soul.

Mother time and her cousin future slowly
beguiled me of my celestial weight,
as my hands stretched more and more
toward the less abundant.

My desires licked the boots of men with
boastful cries.
Their omphalos was the unsubstantiated.
It had less density than my handful of
air. But I reached toward it
still.

My hands lost their archaic touch
in obscenely diffusing pursuits.

I drowned in the ocean of nothingness,
grasping, praying, reaching,
and hoping,
for a simple breath of
air.