This portable blue
Heater, perched on the table
Simmers old O2
Into a frenzy,
Imitating after-burn.
Electricity,
Creates a clearing,
Seeks release, first exhaling,
Next disappearing
Just as we would do,
Rising to the occasion.
If only flesh flew,
Lived as long as air,
We’d stir. Of course, we’d die, but
We’d be here, and there.
