My Goal

My Goal

Six breaths a minute.

That’s the goal.

Slow down,

There’s no oxygen getting to your brain.

You can’t think this way.

Six breaths a minute.

Breathe in and count to five slowly,

breathe out to five.

Take your time.

She doesn’t see the colors I see.

On the backs of my eyes

they bloom like a fantasy ride

through a wormhole,

a rainbow colored slide

into anywhere I want to be.

Take your time she says.

I’ll take my time.

I see water and beach in my mind.

The water is pink,

like Pink Lake in Australia.

White sand beaches,

and sun

warm warm sun.

Breathe in to five

Breathe out to five.

Sometimes I see lake superior.

Endless black/blue water.

Beaches of rocks as far as I can see.

Waves pound the shore,

towering pine trees line the coast,

and sun

warm warm sun.

Breathe in to five.

Breathe out to five.

Then I see the gulf of Mexico.

A lush palate of greens,

sand and sand and sand

upon shells and shells and shells.

Water so clear I can see the fish under my clear boat.

And sun

warm warm sun.

Breathe in to five.

Breathe out to five.

I see the atlantic next,

rolling deep midnight blue waves,

always coming and coming.

Hundreds of tiny shells.

Some are pulverised in the ceaseless curls,

the rest like precious treasures.

And sun,

warm warm sun.

Last time.

Breathe in to five.

Breathe out to five.

I see Coronado.

A beach of crushed shells,

Long thin strip of land not yet claimed by the sea.

Deep turquoise liquid lapping at my toes,

gulls overhead calling me away

drowning in an endless supply of fresh oxygen

rolling off an emerald blue ocean

in the warm warm sun.

I take my time.