Respiration and Revelation

There are only so many ways to be alone.

A perverse sort of pleasure holds each solitary breath hostage,

As if anything—up to and including the silence under my own skin—

Could replace raindrops melting on our backs,

Half-lines whispered in tentative candlelight,

Or second-hand hip-hop played

In another’s used kitchen.

Who can face the impossible future, quietly, comfortably,

By one’s self?


By: Jake Adams