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Poetry. So taken for granted, we hardly know it's there, the body's inhale and exhale from first breath to last. In tune with the heart's beating, whose life breathes us here? Whose laughter, tears, shouts, whispers, night fears? Whose joys, whose sorrows shared? Breathes the hopes we hope for, the regrets we daily bear? Who is it in us suddenly appears? The breath summons itself in each to say. Demands we listen, hear. Bring close your ear. For J. Morris knows, and tells us where...SOMEONE IS BREATHING.
