Atmosphere

The bubbles break free
lines intact, and wind
gently away through the
thin air shimmering, green
as a new morning

lives
alive in there
touched for a time
by another's finger -
different thought and mode,
memory  absorbed
brings a change of colour,
an altered code

but
essential still
though  as yet unhealed;
circumference can never
be amid the quiver of
each flex and bounce a
mandatory  experience

and
I know  you
as you read, know
we will neither of us
break
at the same speed

therefore
I say forever
touch but keep your line

intact
as you stretch,
billow,
as you aim
for the circular
flow.

previous poem