Bitter Air

The wind came hard today, a lash

against my face, my throat. Each breath

a sudden choice, a kind of clash

against the cold, a near-death

feeling, deep inside my chest.

The air, it burned, a raw, sharp sting.

I watched my breath, put to the test,

white vapor, quick, a fragile thing.

It spun away, a little ghost,

dissolving fast in bitter air.

To breathe, a duty, something lost

in all the hurried ways we care

for nothing, till it costs too much.

My lungs, a fragile, hollow space.