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June 17, 2024


By Judith Alexander Brice

The real singing is a different breath of air.
A breathing in a god, a wind.

Third Sonnet to Orpheus, Rainer Maria Rilke


Grasp the air and come with me --
watch breath become a song,

as our toes tread deep, our longing feet
twist free down deep below the sand.

Look above. Forget the scud
of lamb-curl clouds -- their whorl --.

Forget the sun, its rays near gone,
and warmth about to close.

Just imbibe the air.
Take a wayward breath,

a long and thirsty one.
Imbibe it slowly, sip with care

this elixir to sate a king.
Grab it, taste it, drink it in.

And then you'll hear its core:
those waves, their wind,

their pulsing breath --
the lapping at the shore.

Article © Judith Alexander Brice. All rights reserved.
Published on 2020-06-08
Image(s) are public domain.
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