Bringing up the bodies. Searching for bodies and shapes, much blind drawing and frustration, then something appeared.
Slow, slow I draw breath, my breath, So I might breathe it out on paper.
My breath. Drawn down to belly and toes, Drawn in, passing colours through closed eyes,
Feeling a path through charcoaled fingers It lingers in the air and then exhales.
Light, hard, left, right, loose, tight. To rub or shove, or stretch and curl,
The graphite whorl spells out drawn breath Across the page of freedom unseen before me.
I will not look yet. Let the ink jet black unfold its surprise.
Aah, eyes unfurl. Yes. I have drawn breath.