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Shallowest Breath

When I was a child
I could see around corners,
Walk through walls,
Measure time in my bones.
Now I move through the streets
Like a dry scrap of paper,
Carried by winds
That sting the eyes
And crawl, like spiders,
Across the skin.
I languish and wane
In the still morning air
Of a day that will never unfold,

In a life in which drawing
The shallowest breath
Is the hum of a cold machine.