The Alchemy of Breath
by Plynn Gutman

Chameleon blooms open night,
clouds undulate in the undiscovered,
past a sliver of new moon.
This road, bright with glow bugs,
flickers like faerie wings
whirring to a hummingbird’s song
breaking dawn.

In the expanding vista,
blue conundrums
roll back with ebb of tide.
Doves hidden coo in stone
banyan branches holding
ancient history,
arc of double rainbows
elusive yet present like wind
and the alchemy of breath
urging blood through veins.

Mark the spot and it’s ours,
as only a single-moment-upon-
single-moment offers
in this tumble of changing,
this sand glistening like satin.

Where did the past go?
Except to sleep
under a quilt of sorrows
stitched with fine threads of joy.

Mark the spot and now it’s gone,
replaced with a holy memory –
tiny dancers twirling to music
adrift on a slow breeze.

One blink and everything alters,
though golden sun takes no more
than a whisper from time.
We can open walls with our fingertips,
hold the color of beginnings
in the pulse of our wrists.