Breathing, you invisible poem!
The pure continuous interface
of my own being with space,
the counterpoint to my own rhythm,
a single wave by which
I gradually become the sea,
the most efficient of all possible seas,
encompassing all space.
How much of the universe has already been
within me? Sometimes the wind
seems like my son.
Do you know me, air, so full of scenes once mine?
You, once the smooth rind,
margin and leaf of my words.
