Giving Up Smoking
Itís stupid breathing in and out of one hole.
You wouldn't eat and shit that way
or listen and speak. So a friend teaches you
meditation using your nose to breathe in
and your mouth to exhale.
But youíve only one windpipe.
It gets you in the end. Itís all tidal -
time becomes a tide, quieter at night,
gurgling through shingle, filling rock-pools,
your soul tethered like any sail must be,
billowing each day. With each breath, each spring,
the earth clears its lungs of green
up through branches until the tips burst with it,
all that summer as you count each day,
each breath, sucking your final words back in.
If you have any comments on this poem, Tim
Love would be pleased to hear from you.