A whisper is little in the world,

but all the larger for the intention behind its

almost non-existent sigh-sized drifting

that sits to barely rest.

Breath on the brink of release,

brief on a breeze from the mouth

that ever so slightly speaks it.

Barely resting in this world;

breaking out, breaking free,

only to greet and pivot on the

precious, almost silent present;

finding weightless footing on the

pin point of a passing moment,

then flees, and ceases to be.