Cold has it, undoes it,

gives it away to evening.

It is more a pulling

than release. Lungs did not exhale this.

If there is a rope

it has gone unfelt, yet it has drawn,

and does draw-- collapsing ribs.

It is certainly a freeness

that asks a throat to open.

How well-like

receiving newness. That tree,

the lake, some small part of space;

offered, and expanding

the quiet rooms of a chest.

Lia Brooks