every so often
I step outside in the cool of the day
and I stop

sometimes I feel a little silly
feeling refreshed over the compost heap
but there's something in the sharpness of a cold intake of air
that brings life to my house-warmed lungs
even among decaying vegetation

I'm told that those who fish for sport
cast their lines in northern pools
the lakes of warmer climes shunned
for their sluggish swimmers

cold water provides more oxygen
more energy
more life
to will a fish to fight
more fun for the fisherman
this vitality in his prey

back at the bus stop
the parking lot
garbage bag in hand
rancid fumes lose their fire
in the face of pure temperature
fall frozen, oxygen rises
as I channel my inner pike
and return inside
to daily bread


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