Different Kind of Breathing

A banner red as fire
makes the sky bleed
like an unattended wound.
She saw it floating by in a dream
where all the kitchen knives
were duller than the leaves.
I trace the outline of the forest
with my eyes and let my hand
work on its own against the paper.
She ties her hair up with a needle
in her teeth. I slightly lift a fallen tree
and try to focus on the sky
while she is reaching underneath
to pull out anything that’s crawling deep inside.
This bait is cast on separate lines
that take too long to come alive,
and while we wait we think about before.
I never thought I would forget
about radio commercials, but looking back
they never crossed my mind.
I want to try a different kind of breathing
like how frogs can through their skin,
so I can hide out at the bottom of a pool
and then begin to feel myself suspended
by the waves that I have brought there
for the sake of what I see.

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