They told me when I awoke to this body each breath will taste my blood with the tongue of every creature who has lived, and I said yes. And the air I breathe will be torn by rocks abraded by fans and bruised in the factories of steel, and I said yes. And they said the ants have a right to this breath as much as I, and it erases their paths as they walk and as easily, it erases mine. They said my breath will read me from inside with its licking torch as if I were a cave, and I said yes. And the air will carry the breathless patience of stone and the seething heat of asphalt and scatter me from the memories as flickeringly as footsteps, and I said yes, and the air will stir the wet of my body in the ocean of bodies, and in shared bodies of hives and cities, and in the poisons, and I said yes, I will breathe air that has passed through the nail holes punched by children into jar lids to save the lives of fireflies, and I say yes. I will breathe the force which blows wind rows in snow, and rubs waves in the sand, and strips topsoil from farmlands and makes the cypress cringe from the sea. Though it is sour with dreams and loud with sickness it will run beside my heart like a young girl beside a horse, it will forgive my legs for running, and chase my mind away from its fear, and I say yes, I will blow into whirlwinds in the breath of my lover, and into sea storms I will fly to be healed, and to the vastness inside clouds I will go for rest, and I will wash out my tears with the mist blown from whitecaps, and disperse my venom in daggers of sunlight, and I say yes, I will torture my vision through with the everlasting scanning of sea birds, yes, I will breathe each layer from the horizon, and hush my thoughts in the deepest airs of caves, and ripple the cold, slow, sunken rivers, like sleep, and whistle through blowholes hidden in thickets linking the underground to the sky. I will whisper through the perforated coinage of sewer lids, I will lie down in hot valleys with the breath of vegetables, and I will say yes. I will breathe a clear cloud of silk around my heart, and wear a frayed scarf of fire, I will breathe what determines the path of falling feathers, and boil the snow from the seared summits of mountains. I will stay trapped a thousand years in a tomb until a mouse will free me. I will blow a cloud on the final mirror of the dying, before the cistern of silence cracks, and I will make a quick slate for fingers shouting behind cold glass, saying yes.