famous

taking in metered sips of breath
and letting history roll across my tongue;

it's far less romantic to do the math
when I can dream my own chances
and picture parted lips;
a thousand voices whispering
of the ages I have taken in.


a simple explanation
for why each breath that trickles down my throat
erupts in a cacophony of whispers
as it reaches my blood--
for how many others did this breath let breathe?
stirring mind, gasping throat,
clenched teeth against raw lungs

or a simple, final exhale,
given to sleep.

how many gasps of wonder, shouts of anger,
before this reached my dreaming heart?
before I used and rejected and pulled in another
just as precious
and disposable
breath of inspiration.


--
Title is prompt, tied in with something my Astronomy teacher said today: that statistically each breath we breathe in is composed of the same recycled molecules which have been in the lungs of everyone else throughout history.