Steps to Breathe

I wish most days, 
To find a boat, and an oar
And drift off to sea. 
Guided by puffins
That circle me. 

The rhythm of the water, pushed against the main,
Would lull the shining 
Cod to sleep. 

I could sit on the deck
And watch the salty waves pull me off to see
Icebergs around me. 

I am back on the ground
On Elizabeth Street. 
Watching old English houses, and flowers
Blooming, spreading their seeds.

A voice yells and calls me,  
And I turn to see, 
A path leading down to a house
Filled with irrepressible beauty


And I take a step, 
The world spins, a dizzying dance
And I land.
On a road more familiar,
Than my own feet, 
And I take a step, then run
Faster than I've ever been
The air welcomes me. 

They open the door, 
Little hands clutch my knees 
And they pull me inside, 
And the sage dog would wheeze, 
And a tall boy would lope by and call out my name, 
Down the oak hallway and a door would open. 


So a take a step
And it's gone like a breeze. 
I'm in a room, 
That I love to see
The  light filtered in 
Is pale and weak. 


I spin around, delighted to see,
Ancient torn chairs, old desks, 
And book shelves brimming with dust and that one book I despise to read. 
I dash to an old chair, and look to the desk and I see
A picture, a girl, a falcon by me. 
And I sit back and breathe. 


Rocky land, my home
I am here at last
And the world seems to brighten for me. 
All the fog and the snow
And the harbor, 
And a man and his dog
And a old tennis house
And a dry little park
And a snail ridden swing
And the incomparable rightness that love brings


And I take a step, 
And look out to sea, 
I lean on the rail, 
In a jacket far too small for me, 
Watch in the winter as they drift back to me
In the fast fading twilight, 
The ice gleams. 


And I can breathe.