There Is a Trick to This Breathing

There is a catch to it,
snagging where the ribs meet,
stealing the voice
when I speak, unthinking.

There is a reminder.

Air is liquid upon waking.
A moment after nightmares,
waterlogged,
before I remember to swim.

The rhythm of in and exhalation
must be forced steady.
It must remind confused valves
that blood pumps faster
when we run
and should not trip
or forget so.

Eating, sleeping, breathing, beating,
in borrowed skin are often forgotten.

This body decides
when it will bleed, fall, scar, shake.
It flicks the channels,
the volume of senses and reaction.
I follow focus through blurred eyes.
I medicate, meditate, mediate.
I make the lips smile,
part, and tell you

ÒIÕm alright.Ó