Breath stitches

In out, in out,
our ancient breath
reborn each moment.

Now the air is drawn inside,
to the self ‘side’,
nourishing anew,
now it goes out
returning, changed,
to the other ‘side’.
Golden stitches
ever weaving
between self and other
stitching us together,
(not that we were ever apart).

In, out, in out
the stitches weave
in transparent thread:
galaxies make big stitches
binding the fabric together
across time,
atoms do the fine embroidery
stitches so small
they disappear into space
linking no thing to no thing

In, out, in, out,
our breathing weaves and weaves
A form-less garment
that encompasses everything
yet known to be there
from the gold on the surface of a lake
or the seed floss that bursts out from bullrushes
to join the breeze.

In, out, in, out,
our breath crosses an edge
that isn’t there.
-for the cloth has no edges
and the self no boundary.


2 thoughts on “Breath stitches

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