2 A.M. Air

Barefoot silence,

tip toe taps on tile floors --

the front door breathing in, out,

as it is carefully closed.

Spring is vibrant as it gusts and shifts

in the stillness of the small morning hours.

It rushes through budding branches,

whisking away nightmare-sweats

and anxiety induced tightness

of the chest.

 

 

 

I can breathe again.

 

 

 

Lungs finally fill with something

fresh, something I desperately need --

something clean to wash down

all the smoke. 

For some reason I can't explain,

I break down sobbing,

tear-trails smearing as the wind

bustles and tousles my hair. 

I fall back into bed,

desperate to feel this way

again.