Billions of Deep, Even Breaths

Planets have been named for gods,
Half believed to be the gods
Their night lights represented.

If Earth were a deity,
Living rock of iron heart,
And every year one deep breath,

It would still be small, of course,
Inconsequential outside
Of its skimpy atmosphere,

Breathing in confined orbits,
But a god, let’s say, a god
Of quiet consistency.

Breathe in, perihelion,
Breathe out, aphelion. One.
Keep counting, Earth. Breathe in. Out.

You’re an old god, now, crusty
And starting to shed small flakes,
Shreds of polycarbonates,

Winking flecks of minerals.
Deep breath. Out. It’s been a while
Since any even lesser

Gods have visited to kiss
Your cheek and change your changes
Just a bit, but you still change,

Little divinity. Breathe.
Lonely divinity. Breathe.
Your skin itches and twitches,

But it always has. Distract
Yourself as well as able.
Look out at your neighborhood.

Breathe in. There you go. Now out.
It’s not so bad. You’re going
Pretty much the same. Breathe in.