I was born, then shrunk.
We are born free, then bind ourselves in woolen gossamer, tucking our tails, and sighing as others do the same.
I used to think I breathed with my lungs.
The pump at my center moves me. As a child I covered it in response to what I’d seen. Then love prodded it open again.
But we are breath.
We dare not see that we are born free and stay so only by choice. Our breath sets that cadence and timbre in life.
And our breath is fire.
We breath fire you and I, each inhale, each exhale infusing a recollection of who we really are.
So, we too are fire.
We breath the crackling, blazing radiance housed in that banged and dented casing that we call the heart.