Published on: 12/11/2015
Pneuma

Invisible, the air we breathed--when age
Could be accounted by the fingers of
A single hand— did not exist. Our gauge
Of it came only when the need for glove

And scarf bore witness to a solid wind
That gave it texture we could feel despite
What eyes told. Later, we were disciplined
By Science, taught that even though the light

Saw through it, it was real, a substance formed
Of oxygen combined with other less
Important elements, a fluid warmed
By what we called the Sun. To our distress,

As we've completely lost the benefit
Of ignorance, the atmosphere we live
In tests our diaphragms and won't acquit
Itself the way we think it should. The give

And take we orchestrate with labored lungs
Now seems a symphony of wasted breath,
For every sonal theme our tasteless tongues
Project is flavored with a hint of death.