Languid

Languid afternoon—

not the slightest breath of wind

stirs the Salton Sea.

Death

first death of the year—

the feral cat’s lukewarm breath

leaks from her nostrils

almost New Year’s Eve—

in the homeless encampment

an old man’s last breath

A pear blossom falls

on the sleeping dog’s muzzle,

sweetening his breath.

The harvest moon,

if taken in my hand,

would weigh one breath.

in the same small room

where her lover lies dying—

breath of the raven

hunger at high noon

nothing but the donkey’s breath

fills the beggar’s bowl