Breath: everything is riding on it.
Under the door winter slides
its white envelope, past due, past due
as we move from bed to chair
and room to room, our lives
sighing in the cedars
strung on backroads to this place
where we go in and out
breath by breath, gravel and ice
underfoot, Orion overhead.
–Wyatt Townley
The Coop: A Poetry Cooperative 
Very nice……