Dragon’s Breath

Flashback:  Thinking about the way it felt to be next to you last December. I remember cupping my mouth onto your shoulder and neck in an “O” shape and blowing hard, so that my hot breath was pushed through the cotton of your cardigan and oozed across your skin like warm honey.

Sometimes just being in corporeal form feels like magic, caught up in a whirlwind, mystical musculoskeletal anatomy, pulsating cathedral of warmth.
But like a young shaman with no apprenticeship, i do not understand my power. I have not learned to harness passion, resist impulse, embrace grief.What technology is inside us?
What undiscovered history emerges?

Fast-forward:  I look into the future in my mind’s eye, and breathe dragons breath until I thaw you out.

Flashback:  I’m driving in the car with your mom. I wanted to ask about how she finds happiness after your dad died, but am momentarily paralyzed by the thought of how little control there is in allowing life to move As Icelandic poet Tomas Transformer says, on an ordinary day, when you’re at your prime, Death takes your measurements. You forget about that day, and keep living, but all the while, somewhere, a suit is being sewn in silence.
I tried to speak, but the words got stuck, so we rolled down the window to listen to the seagulls.

There are chapters full of heartache, when I cursed god and grew my beard. I was young, then.

But there are no roads without struggle, without uncertainty. But sometimes you arrive somewhere. Many chapters in between, many bus rides and ticket stubs, many craft beers and scribbles and smoke rings, many kind words and good friends, have brought me to you.