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Air



We didn't meet by chance;
by chance, we didn't meet.
I breathed air here,
you blew air there, and
our sufferings remained distinct.
But if you were as I was—
and you must have been—
you knew as I knew,
you felt as I felt,
and, in that sense,
we defied the gap
and were as one.
We didn't meet,
but air is air everywhere.

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.