Air Sonnet

The urge for more than space allows compressed
into the time before the last time or
the time before the next.
Still she collects everything around her
against a locked door: the song of taut drum
not yet rung, the skin stretched too thin across
the diaphragm, a chill waiting to come
through. I want to be there with her.
.................. I want to know where it begins.
The stopped exhalation of dropped pressure,
The quickening reflux of backward wind.
.......Quiet in a moment of pleasure.

The same load, the same push, the same felt thrill
always followed by an answerless still.