Last words

At the end of some days there is nothing left to do but exhale. I have reached the limits of my capacity, used up all my oxygen. My voice is gone and I am turning blue.

My prayer is nothing more than a death rattle:

Holy Spirit, breathe.

I wait in the cold.

Then, the stirring of warmth, a breath against my cheek. Mouth-to-mouth, you give soul CPR, inflate what has collapsed till all my blood runs bright. It’s your breath in my lungs and I could live another day if you stay near, if you teach me to breathe. I could sing another day, a thousand years to exhale your praise.


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