the measure of one breath

my chain cut into my fingers
testified against fragile skin

I still heard the hollow no
to my morning plea

Still heard the yes
to who I was
who I was

the swinging door wooshes against possibility

my breathin’ –close, tight, shallow—
how deep in the eye
does the prism answer
with its angles?

wow, Peter. I'm sensing something different with your recent posts. I'm not sure what it is, but I like it.

Mary

He got his foot caught in the door, it changed his outlook on life.

eyup...to both, M. & M.

Peter

Here's the other version of this one, done the same day:
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the measure of one breath

my chain cut into my fingers
testified against the fragile skin

I still heard the hollow no
to my morning plea

How much fleece do I need
to cover my soul?

She still heard the yes
to who I was
who I was

At Circe’s Gate

the swinging door wooshes against possibility

For my one-eyed darkness

my breathin’ –close, tight, shallow—
how deep in the eye
does the prism answer
with its angles?

Can you still hear my hurt.
Diana, leaving the forest?