I knew when I opened the door my skin had grown thin

      finally

They’d forewarned it would happen some time before I

      still remember nodding

Warm air from my apartment jetted by a vacuum and crashed

      into nothing             I felt it’s resisting

I closed the door behind me and walked around the porch

      pressing my hand against the concrete wall

For just in that moment I had thought I found my breath

      and facetiously I laughed

A jogger passed by below me dressed up like a scuba diver

      and made think but I was already walking

I looked up at the palm trees shrilling whistles from the wind

      and looked around for sleeping squirrels, crunching on

      the dinner scraps they litter down on the sidewalks

I crossed my arms in my thin white t-shirt and checked again

      for my breath once more              and pulled out

      fire to breathe in, to pacify my brisking lungs

I got into the neighborhoods and began to think about dogs

      The paranoia made me so much colder

      I went to the lake but would not sit              I left

Walking the main roads illuminated by orange lanterns and

      yellow plastic billboards, every car I turned

      for, every dry scubadiver passing me by

When I got back to my street I saw two like me a boy and

      a girl              no scuba gear, both breathing fire

The last thing I remember was my shadow when it found me

      finally