I sit under an oak tree.  

The curly branches reach,  

grab handfuls of air to release  

in clean ribbons— 

    the air in you, 

    the air in me. 

How wonderful it might be 

to be a purifier— 

    a lung-filler,  

    a life-giver.  

Under the leaves,  

I dream what it might be 

to be the clear bubble 

holding this breathing world— 

    all the Earth in you,  

    you in all the Earth.