One night I breathed and saw the moon. It was there above me; I saw it as I stood on the hill. One day I watched the frothy, moving shore, and the sun set as it does on life. I breathed and I saw Orion above me. During that one time I had. I stood on one leg, on the hill, and I did figure eights around a manhole, with a view over the city lights below, and the full moon lights up the world so that trees and flowers and hills were visible. I breathed and saw a shooting star; I breathed and played with the Big Dipper behind me, dipping; I breathed deeply and engaged my favorite, Pleides, sisters seven and walked in circles; that one time I had. I breathed in the darkness shadowed by a moon and I breathed with the two dogs. They didn’t know what to think of me. Tired of barking they growled, inched closer, grew bored, sniffed the grass, wizzed and kicked with their hind legs. Soon we were all three quiet and I was happy. I remained still, so as not to prod them. One scrape of a pebble and they were off again, underneath the moon, not howling at it but snarling at me from their stomachs. I was here once and I did all that, finally got that chance you were talking about; I breathed and I saw the breeze in the lonely this far south redwood tree, there anyway its time. I breathed and smelled a eucalyptus pungeance and a kind of desert spice, riding there, spinning on the air, waiting for me, dry because of the days, jasmine, too. I breathed and stretched tall for the moon.
