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Breathing by Marcello Giovanelli

I give you these ribs to help you live.
They form a bridge across 
thirty years

of wild rain, and sun, 
and the apples 

in a basket that were brought 
and placed next to each of the bones. 

Between each porcelain thread 
are little voices, hanging 
gently, smouldering like the final wisp 
of a spider’s web long vacated,

their soft hands so carefully aligned 
in this thin bone cloth.

And those promises voiced in the harshest
throat of winter or the thrill of April
rain become us now.

The earth is fresh; the world

is a curve in the heart, and 
where it beat.

---

Marcello Giovanelli is a writer and academic from Leicestershire, UK. He has recently published poetry in Ink, Sweat and TearsPoetry Plus, and The Poetry Village.

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