What We Breathe

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You’re leaving soon, I say, the July heat
burley-leaf yellow, humus char rising
in waves above the gravel drive, half-beat

staccato whirr of locusts surprising
only the silence. Yes, you nod and trace
a fingertip down the side of the glass,

then stand and walk inside, that hint of grace
I’ve seen a hundred times before. And last
night, bare shoulders shadowed in moon’s blue

light, you turned and told me, Breathe. Breathe
deep. For nothing in this wide world can smooth
the furrowed brow like the breath of love—ease

into the dream where words turn flesh to proof
of shared tomorrows. And now, the scented
air reminds me of every time we’ve ended.

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By Tony Morris

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Along with his debut novel, Deep River Blues, and four books of poetry, including his latest, 'Pulling at a Thread', Tony Morris's work has also been widely published in anthologies and journals. His poems have been awarded the Louisiana Literature Prize, and the Tennessee Writers Alliance Poetry Award along with multiple nominations for the Pushcart Prize. He lives with his wife, four children, two cats, and a dog in a farmhouse nestled in the Southeast. He’s the associate editor of Southern Poetry Review, and director of the Ossabaw Island Writers’ Retreat.