Breath
        We die of words—Ralph Waldo Emerson

Their echoes eddy,
vanish, and endlessly want more.
But once I quietly inflated two blue air pallets
for the children of visiting friends
and like to remember that night
when held lightly above our hardwood floor
they floated toward dreams
on my breath.

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Copyright © 2017 Peter Makuck All rights reserved
from Mandatory Evacuation
BOA Editions
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission