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.