In routine there was comfort,

room to breathe – at intervals precise.

A personal art, to design

a day from end to end

just so; an unfolding of self

into rules and habits.

Disruption, however, was thief

of the very breath from lungs,

holding her muscles tight, taut,

poised to fight for the life,

just so, established for years

upon years.  No.

When the panic took hold,

breath became gold, an entity

to protect, to count like coins –

a pauper fearing deeper poverty.

If only she could inhale…

Telephone rings wrongly timed

and the world explodes into sound.

She collapses on the ground.

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