we don’t see morning coming at us like the inevitable burst of a crocus, the potential energy of a spring, coiled and waiting to erupt. hold your breath, you say, so we bottle up what we can, knowing all along that molecules of wind are making their way into our bloodstream, exchanging, weaving, cushioning. we are satisfied for now with how we’ve held it in even as we’ve amplified the smallest openings: beehive and how we live among the holes. it is peaceful here, but it is not peaceful here. are we holding tight? are we unfurling like a galaxy, a stunning lightning digging into unrest? i cannot go until. in me, the breath unwinds.