The Equation of the Breath

At dawn the mist cools
over the dark waters of the mind.
A magic carpet of native thoughts
wrestle with nothing
in this hour
of meditation.

There is no happy or sad here.
Only the moment--
the equation of the breath
that calculates sight
and grace.

I stand on this water’s edge
each morning sizing up my lives
fossilized in amber,
knowing soon the seas will wash
over me again
and I will take flight
from this heavy earth,
with the angels and new wings,
toward sweet freedom
of only soul.