I saw my breath today: your absence has weathered its first change of season buzzer rang, again not you, again mailman. drops of sweat on my forehead betrayed my hopes while simultaneously becoming sign of hope's betrayal: skin weeping or, I was wept to perspire: to breathe of the wind, to breathe or blow gently through (rare, obs.) of the body, to exhale while watching mailman as if witnessing last appearance of a soon-to-be-extinct Ring Pink Pearly Mussel (Obovaria retusa), a Karner Blue Butterfly (Lycaeides melissa samuelis), or a Chittenango Ovate Amber Snail (Succinea chittenangoensis), a breeze dispersing seed stole my forehead's salty beads and the subsequent disequilibriating chill generated the dynamism necessary for all life, which in turn called my body to respond, homeostasis. if you had been there I would have asked you, to what degree is it the pressure of the wind that erodes the subtle changes in my face from day to day? air's surround constantly forming the specific shape of your omission around me. could we invent a mechanism to record what wind has passed through, worn away and distributed, to detect and trace our longing for each other in the history of wind? if wind is the breath of g-d, then do our movements through g-d's respiration act as musical instrument or vocal apparatus, determining and altering the sounds, the words, that g-d is able to utter? going back inside I thought I felt your whisper in my ear and turned to answer, as it was coming out of my mouth I realized that although it was already late afternoon your name was the first word I had spoken next