Between those moments without air
I breathe in whatever the sea brings me: tar and salt,
diesel and dead seaweed. The air before evening.

Here on this dune my world looks well enough:
Sky still blue, calming waves, the ongoing sound
of the north-western surf. Here I can breathe.

Crows. They approach me to include me
in their secret. I see their souls. They understand
I need some quietness and ask no more. But then

The church bells ring for yet another funeral,
The foghorn starts, my world now fading
into mist. I return home to suffocate again.

Comments on: "Hyperventilation" (12)

  1. This poem moved me to tears Ina. Big hugs ❤️ Xxx

  2. That is how the natural world seemed to me too, an openness. The crows are a nice touch here. I like how you say they share their world with you.

    • Thank you David. Those crows are there every morning. I am getting upset when they are missing 🙂

  3. Beautiful and poignant, very moving, {{{Ina}}}. Sending much love and a long hug. XO ❤

  4. This is beautifully observed as always but also deeply sad and moving as others have said. My thoughts are very much with you at this time

  5. Jane Thorne said:

    ❤ xXX

  6. Great structure to this poem. You have captured a sense of longing, as I see it, and a desire for something more real.

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