The Trick Is To Keep Breathing

Night dawned, day fell
in an upside-down metaphor of
us and all we stood for, all
we claimed to want for one another.
Mired in echoes of words that meant
all but what they should,
I struggled;
tangled and tripped up by
all the traps I set for you,
I realized how there was never anything
but fog and mirrors and
truths about myself.
Feeling like
day-old smoke and shadows,
I thought about
yesterday, and you, and quitting drinking--
all those shining, unreachable motes
floating in the span of forever--
and about how much I wish
I could live in today.
Humming along with notes linking
fingers and breath and emotion,
I dreamed a more pleasant life,
made all the more appealing
by its nonexistence,
and I wondered why the syllables of "impossible"
taste so much like "desire."