The flock,
born of elements—entoning survival and grace.

Heatwaves between wings, connective air molecules.

We breathe Christ in, to recognize His condition of the heart—
as natural as transformative meditation.

His lungs, my lungs, live for Him.
Where there once was His grace walking earth,
there now lives
biology of crucifixion and rebirth.

Breath never dies.
It keeps atmosphere and home.

Breath of my breath.
Lungs of my yearning heart.

Christ kisses our lips every time we take in air
and becomes risen within and without.

Our lives are devotion. Alive with Him.

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