I breathe in lives
from the atoms
to the atmosphere.
Millenniums, centuries, weeks, days
flowing on windswept currents.
The blush of hope.
The flush of desperation.
The first and last tear-stained smile.
Hands and fingers reaching
for the light of the sun.
Straining through clouds, rain and snow
for a hint of warmth,
a brush with completeness.
Their eternal hearts beat wildly,
circulating through creation.
As my own hands become dry and brittle,
fingers curling, unable to reach,
I realize
in a matter of years
someone will breathe in me.
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