Poetry of John Shaw
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      Two Breaths

      1987

      I breath one breath
      yet before the next
      I will be off
      in another land
      contemplating complexities
      of new matters at hand
      each one screaming silently to
      demand the synapse titillation
      of a saw-blade grinding through
      a wooden span
      of attention

      Breath two comes through
      and think I of you
      and in just one fraction
      of a contraction
      in soft swept whispers
      through the thicket
      you faithfully arrive

      Although my druther would have
      you flow through every breath
      every other is just as good as one another might need




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