A spruce needle, one of millions,
green, growing beside my window,
inhales, and in breathing, performs
in near perfection it's vital purpose.
Perched nearby, a western tanager,
flame breasted in spring plumage,
sings to another.
A magpie, dancing among branches,
paradisal beauty, highland clown,
builds a domed nest.
Bearing witness in this theater,
the leaf exhales, and thus
all the characters breathe.
A small child listening and watching
breathes as the characters of this drama
breathe, without thought.
I reflect beside myself at my window.
They say in Gaza, even children seem old.
The whole world is old and breathless.
Brother, do the tamarisk and olive trees
hold their breath, awaiting catastrophe?
Breathe in. Breathe out. Insh’Allah.
Basman, teach us to breathe like trees.