Yesterday I saved up all the oxygen particles I breathed
And sent them to you in a big box.
Two days later it was sent back
With big bold letters marked ‘Return To Sender’
But I can no longer tell if there is any air left inside.

Outside there is a man taking photos of the sky
He wears dark sunglasses
And when I ask him what he is doing he tells me
‘The human eye never looks above its own height’.

We sit on the top of the lowest tower
And he points at the girl below and says
‘This is the definition of beauty and truth,
With shining purity,
Like fog billowing in fields at six forty three AM.’

The sign on the advertising billboard reads,
‘The fabric of human nature is a flawed survival instinct’
As a quiet remembrance speaks in a loud tone
And the sound of clenched teeth submits echoes in blurred waves.
They make a heavy sound
Like the blinking of eyelids in early morning sunlight.

Heavy metaphors and late waking hours are not enough
To decipher the difference between humanity and nature.
If you look closely enough at the television, you can see congressmen
Wrapped in cotton wool and searching for meaning through their motives.
They do not try to find meaning in a half-lit candle,
Nor pay attention to the teenagers who try to define hope and faith and joy.

These are the reasons why I lay awake at night
And allow images of steam on windows to unfold in my head.
Simplistic objects can create an entirely new meaning
If only we take a minute to renew its existence
But not many can tell the difference anyway.