by Tanner Bean
If I could hold
her single breath,
a breath
she couldn’t help but take
enrobed in roses in the sky,
and in between the light-to-light.
If I could hold it—
that breath
in hands, my globe, like bronze
and weld it hard into my core
she’d breathe,
a molten remembrance,
dense and hard,
she’d coax
life’s fire from
daily soul cold,
as her whole soul
stays bronzed and breathes.
