Human sentience is like atmosphere –
relentlessly unquestioned, it permits us
our experience of “here.” Nothing comes
to us except through its commanding sphere.
It is the dearest gift we know of genesis:
its nemesis, and ours, would be its absence.
The nearly daily consummation of our greatest
fear comes when we see it suddenly appear
to snuff out into nothingness. So we revere
all breath. I wonder if this means that God
is not a sweet benign omniscience: I wonderif we secretly believe that God is death.