Breathing
Grasping for straws is easier;
You can see the straws.
“This most excellent canopy, the air, look you,”
Presses down upon me
At fifteen pounds per square inch,
A dense, heavy, blue-glowing ocean,
Supporting the weight of condors
That swim its churning currents.
All I get is a thin stream of it,
A finger’ s width of the rope that ties me to life
As I labor like a stevedore to keep the connection.
Water wouldn’ t be so circumspect;
Water would crash in like a drunken sailor,
But air is prissy and genteel,