Breath

Nothing is ever so dire that breath can’t ease
the unnamable ache.

Breath is the ripe pear on the sill
absorbing light into a sweetness you can taste.

Breath is a distracted mother slowing her pace
to help her child button the new red sweater.

Breath is the old man at the park fountain
writing poems for passersby.

The cab driver who tells you his life story,
the woman you help across the street,
the flowers you pass by at the florist
gathered together in a bouquet
soon to fade
breathing
we are glad to be
only beauty.