Breath and Bones

I left the doors open till well after midnight last night, and when finally battening the hatches felt the wind blow clean and warm through the screen door and I knelt there for a good long time with my eyes shut, fingers pressed soft against the screen, my hand holding the invisible and the wind running through me like a deep breath and I was made of holes and dry bones and dead wishes and then for a moment I wasn't anything at all--simply breath, His breath taking me up, my dry bones, my deafening worries and lifting them into green things growing at night and I went out on the stoop and sat and called to the cats and to the moon sitting half hid, a bowl that held a few dreams I'd kept precious just in case I happened into a night like this and was breathed green, the marrow suddenly living and I placed the wishes in the bowl He made for me, and this bowl was my life: