To Breathe

I am poor, with verse
my hands shake rain
shadows, meager tin-clap
libations at no altar climbing
a candle's broken beams.

Still you are here, sitting
to hear this beggar rise
courtesy for you,
windy rags of sun-skin
falling to ground, eyes
sleeping a home
in your warm breath.

And so you sing silence
on these words, torn
a flickering fire scars deep
empties in that open sky
choking me with sound.